


How The Mighty Fall

by Meep_Morp



Series: The World Calling [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Awesome Pepper Potts, Bisexual Peter Parker, Coming Out, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Male Character, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Irondad Big Bang, Jewish Peter Parker, Lesbian Michelle Jones, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Rating May Change, Redemption, Slow Burn, except smut, however there is one instance of, this fic basically has everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2019-11-16 01:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 146,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18084407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meep_Morp/pseuds/Meep_Morp
Summary: Since his duel against Toomes on Coney Island, Peter's life has settled down considerably. May knows about his double life and accepts it (mostly). Tony has welcomed him back, and given him more independence as New York's Spider-Man.One night during patrol he crosses paths with Connor, a teenager who has Extremis in his blood and answers to the wrong kind of people. Though Tony is quick to distrust him, Peter finds himself reluctant to follow his mentor's lead, and a bond develops between the two boys. Their relationship is further complicated when Connor's former master, Negative, makes it a personal mission to destroy them both in his quest for power.Taking down a superpowered psychopath? Tough, but Peter isn't going to back down.Stopping Tony from blasting his first potential boyfriend into space? He might need a miracle for that.[Complete!]





	1. Who Are You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Who Are You" by Svrcina
> 
> No chapter warnings!

Peter never quite understood those who disliked city life.

Sure, it was crowded, and noisy, and at times could make anyone just a little claustrophobic. New York in particular—with a population of 8.5 million people, privacy was a foreign concept. Nothing existed in a vacuum, and there was always a domino effect of people’s actions. If something was done to hinder or harm, then like the ripples from tossing a rock into a pond, it would be felt by everyone around them. Conversely, positivity spread outward to touch everyone in its path.

The vibrancy of the city never faltered, either. Rain or shine, day or night, New York teemed with life and energy. It lent the city a feeling of unity and closeness that was downright infectious. Somehow, somewhere, there was always a person waiting to be touched by the kindness of a stranger.

He had told Tony he was going to stick up for the little guy, to be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. His neighborhood just happened to be all five boroughs of one of the most populous cities in the world. And that wasn’t even including the surrounding areas—cities didn’t stop at their skyscrapers.

Perhaps he was wearing rose-colored glasses. If the city was really as perfect as he felt it was, it wouldn’t need Spider-Man. But today he’d aced his first calculus test of the semester, prevented a pair of oblivious kids from getting hit by a car, _and_ he’d stopped a mugging with minimal violence. The universe could endure his well-earned optimism. He wouldn’t trade this feeling of success for anything in the world.

From his perch atop the edge of one of Manhattan’s many high-rises, Peter gazed out at the orange and pink horizon. The sun had only begun to set within the past hour, and the sky was largely cloudless and smog-free. It afforded him a rare Friday night view, and he was taking some time to drink in.

It hardly felt like Homecoming had been over a year ago. The rest of sophomore year had passed by in a blur. Though the threat of the Vulture had passed, there was no shortage of stress for any high school student, regardless of any secret double life they had. Summer vacation had come and gone, and the city air was starting to chill as Halloween grew closer and closer.

He hadn’t heard from Mr. Stark in a week or two, though Happy had been considerably better at keeping him in the loop since Peter stopped Toomes from stealing all that Stark tech. There had been some kind of surprise Tony had been planning to show him, but between his engagement to Pepper, and being needed for investment opportunities in Europe, they hadn’t gotten around to it. He might not be the CEO of his company anymore, but his face and voice still carried considerable weight wherever Stark Industries was concerned.

 _“Peter, it is nearly eight,”_ Karen said, her smooth, synthetic voice gentle as ever. _“If you intend to finish your evening patrol before your curfew, you should head to the Bronx. You have only covered four boroughs today.”_

Peter sighed. “Yeah, I will, Karen. Thanks.” He stood up, and fired a line of webbing out towards the nearest building. Then he leapt off the edge, letting physics do the rest to propel him across the city.

The curfew had been May’s idea. Not that he could blame her. He still vividly remembered the expletive she had unleashed upon seeing him in his costume. Once she’d gotten the preliminary rage out of her system, she’d demanded an explanation, and Peter didn’t have it in him to lie to her. Fortunately, she hadn’t been _mad_ at him, per se, but she wasn’t at all thrilled to learn that he’d been sneaking out to “beat up criminals,” as she had put it. Peter had to work to convince her that he saved more cats from trees than he fought robbers. Nevertheless, she had still confiscated the suit. That had been the hardest two weeks in recent memory, but she’d finally relented and returned the suit to him after a long, long, _long_ tear-jerking, soul-baring conversation. Peter knew his aunt well enough to know that she was the kind of person who wouldn’t have a proper emotional reaction unless she knew all the variables. He also knew that despite his very good reasons for keeping the secret from her, she deserved to know why he was Spider-Man.

The spider bite, Uncle Ben, Germany, Iron Man, the Vulture… it had been a lot to unload, but she took it all without flinching. She told him she was proud of him, though that didn’t erase the lying or his evening activities. She’d spent the next hour and a half on the phone, first with Happy, then with Tony Stark himself. As Peter expected, the latter was where she’d chosen to direct her rage. From the way the conversation went, it sounded like he was taking it all without protest. Despite the fact that Peter wanted to argue that he had been going out as Spider-Man long before Germany, the look on May’s face had been enough to dissuade him from interjecting.

In the end, things worked out. Peter had a nightly curfew—nine PM on weeknights, eleven PM on weekends. He had to have all his homework completed before going out—which wasn’t exactly a huge concern of May’s because he _always_ did his homework—and he was not to neglect his friends in favor of vigilantism. May had a direct line to the suit’s communication system, and if she called, he had a maximum of 20 minutes to respond. Rationally, Peter knew that it was a very fair deal, and that she was risking a lot of her sanity to even let him go out at all. Still, the surly teenager in him couldn’t help feeling a bit put out by having any restrictions imposed.

As he swung through the city, Peter idly wondered if any of the Avengers had parents or guardians, husbands or wives, who fretted over them. He tried to imagine Thor being dragged back to Asgard by his mother, and snickered.

Not before long did the brilliant lights of Manhattan gradually fade into the dim, incandescent glow of the Bronx. Peter landed quietly on the roof of an apartment complex, inching forward to peer out at the rest of the borough.

“Anything, Karen?”

_“I am not recording any active 911 calls, nor any alarms, disabled or triggered. Things appear quiet.”_

Peter hummed tunelessly, then hurled himself into open air, webbing up to a building across the street. He crawled up its side and sprinted across the rooftop, leaping to the next one in his path.

“I wonder how Liz is doing,” he murmured, veering right and heading east across the buildings.

 _“I could access public records and acquire her phone number, if you wish to call her,”_ Karen offered.

“No!” Peter nearly tripped over his own feet, skidding to a stop. “No, Karen. Thanks, but I don’t want to complicate things for her. And I’m sure I’m the last person she would want to see.”

Liz’s departure from his school (and the state of New York) was something Peter wished he had been able to change. He had no idea how he could make things better, but he didn’t like leaving regrets unresolved. As it were, the best thing for Liz was for him to not complicate her life any further. She might still have a fondness for Peter Parker, but he wouldn’t blame her if she had no love for Spider-Man, and the two were a package deal.

_“Peter, I am detecting an anomalous energy signature.”_

“Huh?” A spectrogram graph blinked into existence across his suit’s HUD, blinking rapidly like a heart monitor. Peter squinted at it, attempting to identify the data. It read like an emission spectrum, but the radiation matched nothing like he had ever seen before, nor any compound he could think of. “That’s uh, that’s definitely odd. What do you think it could be?”

 _“The signature is faint, but it is leading deeper into the Bronx. I am running it through my database, but so far there has been no match,”_ Karen replied.

“Right, well, while you do that, I’m gonna follow it.” Peter swiveled his head until the readings on the spectrograph were at their most extreme, then fired a web line in that direction.

_“Very good. Identifying the source will help me classify it.”_

“Yup!” The wavelength suddenly dipped sharply, and Peter swung around the corner of a building. It shot back up to normal again. He swung two more city blocks before having to double back and make a left down an alley. The signal was getting stronger, but not quickly enough for it to be immobile. Whatever the source was, it was capable of independent movement, or at the very least being transported. Peter hoped it was harmless, but strange energy signatures didn’t exactly have good odds of being such.

The wavelength was taking him for a ride, zig-zagging around the Bronx, but eventually it began to lead Peter rather consistently south, back in the direction of the East River. The sky darkened, and as the sun set the moon began to float upward into the sky. The buildings gave way to smaller houses as Peter neared the water, until finally he had resorted to stealthily scrambling across people’s roofs. He hoped they didn’t notice. “This is Castle Hill Point,” he realized aloud.

 _“Does that mean anything to you?”_ Karen asked.

“No,” he replied, reaching the last house. Castle Hill Point was a tiny peninsula (if it could be called that) which just barely jutted out into the East River. Peter slipped off the last house and leapt across the road ahead, diving into a wooded area at the furthest point south of the peninsula. Rikers Island was somewhere to the southwest, he knew. “It’s just, there’s nothing beyond here except water and then Queens.” Could this thing be moving back near home? Near May?

 _“The signal has intensified since we entered the Castle Hill area,”_ Karen replied. _“Whatever it is, perhaps it has stopped moving at the shore.”_

Peter nodded, slowly moving through the trees. “I just don’t— _oh.”_

A two-story house, if it could be called that, had come into view. It was small, unlit, and clearly falling apart. The roof was missing several patches of shingles and a downstairs window was broken. Peter doubted he would have ever known it was here if he hadn’t specifically come looking in this area.

“Man, I wish MJ had known about this place for her film class. Would have made her slaughterhouse project a lot scarier,” Peter whispered. “Karen, anyone in there?”

 _“I detect one occupant,”_ she replied. _“And the energy signature is present as well. They are both on the second floor.”_

“Cool.” Peter crept closer, and stretched out a hand and touched the old wood of the house. Since no one came rushing out to hack off his limbs, he began to scale the wall. He was just going to take a peek. Make sure whatever freaky energy was in there didn’t need an arachnid’s touch.

He inched closer to the window, and poked his head just high enough to peer through.

The room was empty, decorated with peeling wallpaper and a visible film of dust. In the middle of the room was a black-clad figure. Peter’s eyepieces adjusted for the low light, allowing him to get a better view.

His first thought was that he looked like someone who would have run with Vulture’s crew, but he was much too small. His outfit was a flexible series of dark leather and padding, almost like heavy-duty motorcycle gear. His hair was dark, shortish and a bit messy, and most of his face was obscured by a pair of large, dark-lensed goggles and a half-face mask that covered his jaw and nose. What little skin of his brow and forehead that Peter could see, was darker than his own.

He was standing very still, as if listening for something. Had he heard his approach?

 _“Peter,”_ Karen piped up. There was a note of urgency in her voice. _“I believe I have discovered what this energy signature is. It resembles old data collected by Mr. Stark nearly five years earlier, though it is heavily altered. It contains trace matches to Extremis.”_

Extremis? Peter vaguely remembered the word. Years ago, just months after the Chitauri invasion of New York, Extremis and Advanced Idea Mechanics had made headlines when their CEO’s actions as a domestic terrorist were brought to light. The US Vice President had been arrested for involvement, too. Peter had only been eleven years old at the time, so he had been more concerned with the grainy footage of Iron Man suits battling several dozen glowing, superpowered people. Back then, it had been the coolest Christmas ever. Now, when he was standing not ten feet from a user of Extremis (or some variant of it), it was less cool and more terrifying.

A second later, he realized that the energy signature wasn’t coming from some device or alien technology. It was coming from the guy himself.

Adrenaline shot through him, and then his spider-sense went wild. Peter had a moment to realize the warning for what it was, when the masked man whipped his head around to stare directly at him. As if he knew that Peter was there.

Instinct kicked in, and Peter quickly webbed himself up to the roof of the building, trying to escape detection again. “Karen, tell me you have something on Extremis?”

_“Yes, though what is present in the target has been so heavily modified that it could hardly be called Extremis. Normally, Extremis subjects are vulnerable only to extreme trauma to the brain or major organs. I cannot confirm if this target has those same weaknesses. Would you like me to activate—”_

“Do _not_ say instant kill!” Peter slipped onto the opposite wall of the house, heart still pounding like a drum behind his ribs. He wasn’t scared, not really—getting dragged into the air by the Vulture had been a worse experience. But he was already preparing for a fight, whether he wanted to or not. Something in this guy had made his spider-sense go off, and Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to find out what.

 _“The target is moving. He is leaving the house,”_ Karen informed him, just as Peter heard the building’s front door creak open. _“Peter, Extremis is a highly unstable and dangerous compound. Mr. Stark has categorized it under the ‘Emergency Babysitter Protocol,’ along with other scenarios such as ‘Chitauri Invasion’ and ‘Angry May Parker.’ I strongly advise calling him or Colonel Rhodes for assistance.”_

There was a lot Peter could say to that, but for now he just settled on, “I can do this by myself, Karen.” Conflict with the Vulture might have taught him to not get in over his head, but he wasn’t going to run to Iron Man every time he encountered someone more dangerous than a petty thief.

The lenses in his eyepieces switched to thermal imaging, and Peter could see that Not-Extremis Guy was slowly circling the house, no doubt looking for him and getting closer. He couldn’t stay here.

 _He hasn’t exactly done anything,_ Peter mused silently. _The only things telling me to be careful are my instincts._

He could already hear the rebuke from Mr. Stark as he deactivated the thermal imaging, and slowly dropped to the ground. Karen didn’t say anything, but he could almost imagine her disapproval, if she were capable of it.

Not-Extremis Guy rounded the corner that moment, just as Peter straightened his back and crossed his arms, trying to look stern. Upon seeing Spider-Man, Not-Extremis Guy jumped, obviously not expecting a direct confrontation.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked, going for his best "authoritative crime-fighter" voice.

Not-Extremis Guy stared at him for a moment. The goggles and mask he wore made his expression totally unreadable, but Peter had the distinct impression he was being judged.

“I live here,” Not-Extremis Guy finally replied, and Peter dropped his arms to his sides in surprise. His voice was young, much too young to be an adult. If he were a teenager, that would explain his height.

“Really?” Peter glanced at the dilapidated house. “Aren’t there like, better digs around here than this?”

“I _just_ claimed it.” Not-Extremis Guy sounded offended. “You caught me on moving day. I still have to organize all the dust spread out through the house. If you came to make cobwebs, some other spiders beat you to it. They add some charm, but too much is tacky.”

 _Oh,_ Peter realized belatedly, with mixed pleasure and relief. _He’s joking._ He would take banter over hostility any day. “Well, there go my evening plans.”

A small noise of amusement issued from behind the other’s mask. “I’m sure Spider-Man can find other ways to occupy himself.”

“Yeah, you would think, mister...” Peter trailed off expectantly.

“Animus,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation. “Call me Animus.”

“Oh, a codename too? Are you moving in on my territory?” Peter challenged. “Because, honestly, I wouldn’t complain about some extra help.”

Animus snorted. “Not really my style. I’m not picking a fight with the Avengers, either. Or what’s left of them. I just want to lay low.”

“Well, you might want a less conspicuous outfit,” Peter pointed out, gesturing at all the black garb.

“How did you find me?” Animus asked sharply, ignoring the comment.

The evasion was obvious, but Peter let it go. For now. He shrugged. “You kinda… radiate? You leave an emission behind. My suit detected it and I followed it to the source.”

“Oh. Okay, well, here’s your source. Am I free to go?” Animus asked, crossing his arms. The playfulness in him was gone, replaced with tension and suspicion. “Or did you come looking for a fight?”

He almost believed the act. Almost. But there was a waver in Animus’ voice that belied his fear. Whoever he was, whatever his agenda, Animus seemed to not want trouble. Peter almost felt guilty. He’d essentially tracked him down and accosted him for no reason except the energy he gave off. At the same time, he _did_ have a responsibility to protect his city and its people...

And yet, this was different than the Vulture. The Vulture had been an arms dealer who knowingly distributed highly advanced and dangerous technology to the underworld of the city for profit. He was also a grown man who had had years to commit to his illegal plans. Animus _seemed_ younger—in another life, he and Peter might even attend the same school—but the reality was Peter knew nothing about him. All he’d done so far was squat in a broken-down house, and he wasn't sure that deserved an interrogation.

Extremis or not, he deserved the chance to prove himself. He just had to convince himself to allow that risk.

“I’m… I didn’t come here to fight you,” he said slowly. “I mean, I just wanted to check out that energy signature. You’re not exactly _doing_ anything. But...”

“But it would be awfully risky of you to just let me wander around unsupervised.”

Peter nodded.

Animus sighed loudly, turning his gaze up to the trees above them. Peter said nothing, giving him time to think. Another moment passed, and then the tension slowly ebbed from of his posture, as if reluctantly forced out.

“Okay. Spider-Man. What would it take for you to trust me?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“I want to keep this.” He gestured to the house behind him. “I can’t exactly do that if the local vigilante doesn’t trust me as far as he can throw me. I’d be suspicious too, but it’s in my best interests to earn your trust.”

Peter considered. This was a large amount of faith to put in each other, not to mention _very_ sudden to thrust upon someone.

“That’s not really something I can just, like, do,” he replied, waving his hands for emphasis. “How many people do you trust right off the bat?”

“None,” Animus replied wryly. “Fair point.”

He shuffled his feet, and averted his gaze as if embarrassed. And that was when Peter knew he was going to make one of his famous poor-judgment decisions.

“Stick around,” he said, gaining the other’s attention again. “We’ll go our separate ways, I won’t tell anyone about the dude squatting in Castle Hill Point, and if you’re still here tomorrow...I dunno. It’ll be a start. If you want me to trust you, you gotta let it happen naturally.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he held out a hand. Animus slowly shook it. A slight tingling sensation ran up his forearm, and Animus pulled his hand away as if burned.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That...that was an accident. Sometimes I read people without meaning to.”

Peter blinked, slightly taken aback. “Uh…reading?”

“It’s a gift.” Animus remarked quietly. He paused, then added, “Like, a _gift_ -gift. Empathy, I guess. I can feel the emotions of people around me.”

“Like reading minds?” Peter asked warily. Could this guy know who he was under the mask?

But Animus shook his head. “No. I don’t know what you’re thinking, just your feelings. Usually it only works when I touch someone. Sometimes, if a _lot_ of people together are feeling the same thing, I can sense it without touching them. That’s when it gets distracting, or annoying.”

“Guess that explains why you’re out here,” Peter considered, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Is this place actually yours? Did you buy it?”

“No. Technically, it’s no one’s. The building is condemned.” Peter’s mask was still on, but Animus either suspected the look he was being given or simply read his mood, because he shrugged helplessly. “What? Look around, no one has taken care of this place in years. Might as well get some use out of it. And I’m not picky.”

 _“Peter,”_ Karen cut in abruptly, making him jump. _“Police were just dispatched to respond to a 911 call. I believe there is a situation which could use your attention.”_

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” Peter sighed. How was he supposed to leave this? To Animus, he said, “Sorry, I got a...a thing. Duty calls.”

“Wait, Spider-Man.” Animus stepped forward, as if to reach out for him, but then seemed to decide against it. “Are we good?”

Peter hesitated, still unsure of the protocol for this kind of situation.

“Like I said, be here next time I come back and we’ll see,” he finally replied. “Gotta go!”

Before the other had a chance to reply, he fired two lines of webbing to the top of Animus’ house, pulled them taut, and then slingshot himself into the air, sailing over the treetops of the surrounding woods. He backtracked his original route, heading deeper into the Bronx. “Karen, mark the location of that house. Where am I going?”

 _“Location logged. Plotting the fastest route to the source of the call.”_ A line of light appeared across his suit’s HUD, leading back toward the heart of the city.

“Manhattan?” Peter groaned. “I just came from there! It was all clear!”

When he patrolled, Peter kept his web-swinging at a more casual pace, so as to not tire himself out. For all his enhanced senses and physicality, he still had an endurance cap. But when there was an actual situation, he abandoned that pacing and threw himself into his movement. He hurtled back to Manhattan in nearly half the time it had taken him to get to the Bronx, using the momentum of his webs and the inertia of his rather straightforward path.

Even before he had arrived, his enhanced senses picked up what lay in store for him. He could hear shots, smell the lingering acrid scent of gunpowder, and see the flash of red and blue lights in the distance.

As he landed on the roof of an apartment complex, the scene came into view. There were two inconspicuous-looking cars parked haphazardly, one in the north street, and another in the west street. From the south street were a pair of police cars. Each car’s occupants had thrown open their doors and were using them as shields while they exchanged gunfire.

“Karen, is anyone hurt? Any civilians close by?” he asked, blood pounding in his ears.

 _“One officer is wounded, it does not appear serious,”_ she informed him. _“Her partner is attending to her. No civilians in the area. The two groups were fighting each other, until the police arrived.”_

“Okay. Gotta take care of them first before I can help the police.” Peter glanced at the car closest to his position, the one in the north street. Three guys, all armed and dressed in black gear, too focused on the shootout to notice him. The west car had four shooters, each positioned behind an open car door. Their clothes were significantly shabbier-looking than the guys in black.

Peter tapped his thumbs and pinkies together twice, bringing up the multitude of web-shooter options across his HUD. After his fight with the Vulture, he had continued to experiment with the different styles, and changed the suit’s settings. Rather than wasting time scrolling through the six hundred different possibilities, Peter had Karen assign the most useful web combinations to shortcut commands. He could select them by tapping his thumbs and fingers together twice, and deselect them the same way. Which type of web he chose depended on which finger he tapped his thumbs with.

Pinkies and thumbs was one of his favorites: the web-grenade.

Speed and stealth were the best way to go about this—his superb reflexes usually allowed him great survivability, but with so many guns in play Peter didn’t feel like taking unnecessary risks. He fired a series of grenades at the better-equipped men, and was leaping toward the other one before they had even hit their mark. As he flew, Peter heard the telltale detonation, and the subsequent shrieks of criminals who had just been cocooned to their car.

A split second later, he landed on top of the driver-side gunman, slamming the man’s face into the door he had been using for cover. Peter vaulted off his limp shoulders and sailed over the the gunman behind him. Before the enemy could react, he was stunned by a sharp jab to the face, then brought down fully by a second.

Peter de-selected the web-grenades, bringing his web-shooters back to their default setting, and fired a line over the trunk of the car to tag his next target. He yanked, bringing the gunman to the ground, then webbed him up a few times for good measure, just to make sure he’d stay down.

Suddenly his skin tingled, and his hypersensitive nerves screamed as if running with an electrical current. His body was already twisting of its own accord by the time his ears registered the gunshot, and a bullet passed harmlessly through the space he had been just a moment before.

The fourth and final gunman apparently must not have expected Spider-Man to be able to dodge gunfire, because he was much too slow in trying to shoot again. Peter webbed the gun out of his hand, and tossed it aside.

“Look, I’ve already got your buddies, so how about you just—” Peter caught the man’s wild punch. “Hey! That’s rude.”

A blemish on the man’s skin caught his attention, and Peter turned the his wrist a little to get a better look, ignoring the thug's confused struggles. It was a tattoo of a hammer, in the space between his thumb and pointer finger. “Nice ink! Mean anything?”

“Go to hell,” his would-be assailant spat. “You’re stepping in something you wish you hadn’t.”

“Yeah, I’ve done that before. Some people just don’t know how to pick up after their dogs, y’know? Like, is it really that hard?” Peter glanced around the man, at the other car and its cocooned occupants. “So what’s your beef with the Three Stooges over there?”

The man lunged with his free arm, trying to swipe at Peter’s head, but he simply blocked the blow and trapped that arm in his grip as well.

“This is not your affair, Spider-Man,” he grunted. “They do the devil's work. They must be dealt with.”

“Pretty sure a gunfight in my city _is_ my business, man.”

“It is not _your_ city,” the man retorted, ceasing his futile resistance against Peter’s grip. “We were here first. We returned to take back what is ours.”

Then, without warning, he reared back and slammed his forehead against Peter’s, startling the teen into loosening his grip. Blinking through the pain, Peter hazily identified a glint of silver, before feeling a sharp pain in his side. Adrenaline surged through him, sharpening his vision, and when the man lunged to jab him with the pocketknife again, he was ready. He slipped inside the man’s strike, kicked out his knee, and slammed his head into the roof of the car, knocking him out cold.

One tense second passed as his senses confirmed all the criminals were incapacitated, and then Peter put a hand to the wound. While the flow of battle subsided, the pain intensified. “Oh, _ow._ Son of a—”

Karen interrupted whatever choice expletives he would have used. _“Peter, I do not have the ability to perform a deep-tissue scan. However, judging by your heart rate and your breathing, you do not appear to be going into shock, and the injury is not deep enough to pierce a vital organ.”_

One of the cops was looking in his direction, now that bullets were no longer flying. Peter waved at him with his free hand, then he tapped his thumbs and ring fingers together twice to select another preset web combination. This kind had its own special composition, which Mr. Stark had explained was based off the technology of Dr. Helen Cho. It could bond with organic tissue to create a sterile seal, which allowed for temporary first aid, but it wasn’t a substitute for proper medical care. One downside was that it dissolved after only one hour, as opposed to two.

“Okay, well, that’s good, right?” he asked, stretching apart the hole in his suit to spray the webbing on the wound. Then he switched back to default settings. There was an uncomfortable pressure, but the pain and bleeding had subsided. He was fortunate the suit was tougher than it looked—actual spandex would not have stopped the knife from going any deeper. “I like when my organs are un-pierced.”

_“Yes. Your accelerated healing will take care of the injury within the next few days. However, you should still properly bandage it.”_

“Yeah, I know.” Loathe as he was to admit it, he was on borrowed time with the webbing and it was much too close to nine for one final sweep of the city. He had to call it a night. As the police neared, Peter gave them a salute and webbed himself into the air, heading towards home. “What do you think that guy was talking about? Taking back the city? What do you think the odds are that those groups have more guys?”

 _“I do not have enough data for a likely conclusion,”_ Karen responded. Then, in a slightly softer tone, she said, _“No matter what, we will stop them, Peter.”_

Peter hummed in agreement, and continued his web-slinging in silence.

It wasn’t until he crawled up the fire escape to his bedroom window that he remembered Animus. He would have to return to the house as soon as possible to deal with...whatever that was. Animus hadn’t been hostile, hadn’t really been anything except sarcastic and suspicious.

He wanted to believe that was all there was to him. Still, as he climbed through his window and peeled his mask off, Peter couldn’t help but feel like letting him go had been a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! 
> 
> This has been in the works for nearly a year now, and I'm proud to finally get to publish it in the Irondad Big Bang! Currently, there are 18 chapters written, and I've only got a few left. Because the ending of this fic has not been finalized, please be aware that the ratings, warning, and/or tags may change. If they do, I'll post a note. This excludes plot twists, though if I think any spoilery content needs a warning, I'll put a disclaimed in the chapter it appears in.
> 
> This fic will update weekly, every Thursday.
> 
> A BIG thank you goes to JolinarJackson, for being my beta; and to Queenie_Beanie, for being the primary reciever of all my late-night schemings, brainstorms, half-complete scene ideas, snippets of chapters, and my general bullshit
> 
> A special shout-out goes to these fine writers and artists:
> 
> quid_in_a_ditch and elli_psis, for keeping me alive by yelling at me to eat and helping with characterization.
> 
> CaptainStarSong and kianisabitch, for enduring my endless questions about NYC.
> 
> Sally0 and fangirlingingeneralidk, for giving me some much-needed fluff advice.
> 
> Olivia_Ivy and quid_in_a_ditch (again), for helping me not be such a prude.
> 
> fangirlingingeneralidk (again) and Pokegeek151, for helping a simple goy with some basic rep.
> 
> Dragonpyre, eternalserenityy, and Queenie_Beanie (again), for using their fantastic artistry to help with character design.
> 
> Lanada, for helping me work out the kinks of this story when it was in its infancy, before I started taking it seriously.
> 
> And to you, reader, for being an awesome person. This story is a labor of love brought forth the hard work of many more people than just myself, and on behalf of us all, I'm excited to share it with you.
> 
> As always, your comments will keep me writing and publishing, and if you want to yell at me on my tumblr, you can find me at gayspiderboy.tumblr.com


	2. Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter learns a little more about what he's stepped in, and seeks advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Human" by Rag'n'Bone Man
> 
> No chapter warnings!

The next morning, Peter’s wound had subsided to a dull ache. It still protested painfully when he prodded it, but the proper bandaging had really done the trick. One benefit of May knowing he was Spider-Man was he no longer had to hide an injury from her. He hated the distress seeing him hurt caused her, but lying was a lot worse. Plus, Peter knew his aunt—even if she couldn’t stop him from patrolling, she would feel a lot better putting her nursing skills to good use on him.

Still, having to explain he had been stabbed ( _ lightly _ stabbed, he’d insisted, as if that made it any better) had not been fun. It would be gone in two days, maybe three.

He rolled out of bed, snatching his phone off his bedside table, and shuffled into the kitchen. It was Saturday, and the early morning text from May confirmed this was her weekend to work. She would be gone most of the day. Peter grabbed himself a bowl of cereal, sleepily spooning Cocoa Puffs into his mouth as he flipped through the TV.

Ever since he’d begun patrolling more seriously, even before getting his suit from Tony, Peter had taken to paying more attention to the news. There was always a lot going on, and not much of it was relevant to Spider-Man, but it was nice to know what was happening in his city that he couldn’t see from behind a mask.

He changed channels again, settling on a local news broadcast.  _ “—now we go live to Kat Farrell,” _ the anchorman said, flashing his pearly whites at the camera,  _ “who brings us an uplifting story about the kindness of strangers, and the capacity for great impact on our neighbors.” _

The feed cut over to a young woman in a pencil skirt. Her dark red hair was drawn up in a bun, and she eyed the camera behind mahogany-colored glasses. She stood outside, on the steps of what looked like a brick townhouse.

_ “Thank you, Robbie,” _ Kat said.  _ “It has been five years since what many have dubbed the Battle of New York, but the event has already cemented itself as a defining moment in history. With the formation of the Avengers, the invaders were repelled, and the whole world had been saved from a merciless enemy. Though the battle lasted only one day, much of Manhattan had been devastated. Repairs have cost the city $160 billion, but no amount of money could heal the hearts of its people. Thousands of people had been displaced, their homes and livelihoods destroyed, many of them caring for their injured loved ones or in mourning. There are countless stories of communities coming together to help each other in the aftermath, and many say that movement began right here.” _

Kat took a few steps to her right, and the camera followed, bringing into view a slim Chinese man dressed in a simple black and white business suit. He was handsome, sculpted—hair combed neatly, clean-shaven, not a single molecule out of place. It was as if he had been carved straight from stone. He kept his hands folded behind his back, a small smile on his lips as Kat continued to speak.

_ “With me is Martin Li, the director of the project Food, Emergency Aid, Shelter and Training, or F.E.A.S.T. You may recognize that name—F.E.A.S.T. originally began as a homeless shelter, the very building you see behind us. But now, it has become so much more.”  _ She turned to address Li.

The screen changed, showing photos and grainy video footage of the Chitauri invasion. Peter had been in Queens when it happened—far enough away from the chaos that May and Ben had had ample time to leave the apartment with him and try to leave the city. When they got word that the threat had passed, they were almost out of the Bronx. A lot of his memories from that time were hazy. He remembered being scared during their impromptu evacuation, until he caught sight of Iron Man in a news broadcast, battling the aliens. After that he'd been more confident things would be alright. 

_ “F.E.A.S.T’s main building and its three sister shelters miraculously survived the attack, _ ” Kat’s voice continued overtop the images, grabbing his attention again.  _ “When the dust cleared, there were far too many people in need of shelter for the local hospitals and fire stations to support. Even when people began opening their doors to complete strangers, the demand was not enough. The city struggled to keep its promise of shelter and aid, but Martin Li beat them to it.” _

Kat and Li reappeared on screen, the reporter extending her microphone to Li.

_ “Would you tell us what you did, Mr. Li?” _

Li smiled widely, and when he spoke, his voice was softer, yet richer, than Peter had expected.  _ “F.E.A.S.T. had always been more than just a soup kitchen or a halfway house. I started the project to prevent the same kind of misfortune that I had grown up with myself. After the invasion, my shelters were the first institution to respond. I confess that my outlook on the situation was rather cynical—I was not confident in the city's ability to provide, thanks to my own experiences of growing up in hardship. My shelters already run throughout the night—we threw open our doors and gave people warm beds and warm meals. At the time it had hardly seemed like a big gesture. I knew it would be appreciated, but the costs of the endeavour threatened to bankrupt me and my shelters.” _

_ “Did you solve that money problem?” _ Kat asked, in the tone every reporter had when they asked a question they already knew the answer to.

Li smiled.  _ “The first year was tough. As time passed, and more of the city recovered, there was less strain on F.E.A.S.T., but there was still a gargantuan amount of work needed to be done, and that wouldn’t pay for itself. So, I was surprised when donations started pouring in. Much charity was given to us by the wealthiest of the city, most notably politicians who kept their names private. It was humbling, in a way, to see them spurred to action and to see my own preconceptions proven wrong. But this was still a dramatic influx of residents in the shelters, so I needed to inspect all of them for myself to make sure they were satisfactory. And yet...” _ A pleasant, faraway expression crossed over his face.  _ “No matter which shelter I worked at on any given day, I found myself irrevocably attached to the occupants. In particular what tugged at my heart were the children—the recently dispossessed mingling with the youth of the streets was a sight to see. There is an innocence to be found in children, and though I knew many of them would not be at F.E.A.S.T. forever, some might never return. F.E.A.S.T. was the closest thing to a home some of these kids had, and the streets are no place for a child. So I decided that we could do better, we could do more, and F.E.A.S.T. evolved into what it has today.” _

Kat turned her head to address the camera.  _ “F.E.A.S.T. now runs the most comprehensive and widespread charity program in the city. It has expanded into dozens of buildings spread throughout all five boroughs, which Mr. Li has renovated using donations as well as his own personal finances. Though the organization as a whole opens its doors to anyone, these facilities are primarily aimed toward the impoverished and underprivileged children of New York. Provided with three square meals a day and a roof over their heads, the children are schooled by private tutors until they have progressed to an academic level befitting their age, and enrolled in public schools.” _ She turned her attention back to Li.  _ “Additionally, while they are granted all of this without cost, you have also created a job system for them, haven’t you?” _

_“Well, that’s not quite how I would phrase it,”_ Li replied smoothly. _“All children in my shelters who are above the age of 14 earn an allowance for keeping their bedrooms clean and orderly, as many normal children would. There is a full rotation of staff present to maintain the building and all of its necessities,_ _but I simply wanted to teach the children the value of work, and to provide them a means of income for their own personal use. The Training in F.E.A.S.T. is not simply for a catchy name. We want to teach these children independence, so they can build themselves and perhaps their future generations a life better than the one they started out with. And the more my program grew, so did the number of people I found looking to me for guidance and support. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t both humbling and awe-inspiring to me.”_

_ “Is that what prompted you to run for mayor?”  _ Kat asked, her smile all teeth.

Li chuckled, looking slightly abashed. _ “It is...not coincidental. I don't know where the idea started, but it was extremely popular among people even outside the shelters. I was reluctant to campaign, honestly. But eventually, I came to see that running for mayor was another opportunity, the same opportunity to do good that F.E.A.S.T. had.” _

_ “I think I can speak for everyone when I say we all look forward to the change you’ll be bringing us,” _ Kat replied, beaming.

The picture shifted back to the anchor, and Peter smiled a little to himself. It was nice to see people who cared about others, especially someone like Li, or Tony Stark, who were able to do so much.

He thought back to Animus, and an unpleasant knot tightened in his stomach. He could practically hear the rebuke from Tony already. He was a little surprised Iron Man hadn’t been waiting for him when he got back to his house. The Baby Monitor Protocol was still in effect, so the footage and scans of Animus had been recorded. He was sure Tony could access them if he wanted to, but he’d also told Peter that out of respect for his privacy, he wouldn’t unless he had probable cause. Maybe if Peter was the one to break the news, it wouldn’t be so bad? 

_ “Hey, Mr. Stark, I just wanted to tell you I ran into a guy who Karen scanned positive for Extremis. Only it wasn’t exactly Extremis, it was super modified. Where is he? Oh, well, I left him where he was and told him to meet me tomorrow night.” _

Yeah, right. There was no version of this in which Peter didn’t get a lecture. Or worse, he lost the suit again.

He was screwed. He needed advice.

Peter grabbed his phone off the cushion next to him, and dialed the number in his recent contacts.

The call picked up on the third ring, and a thick, sleep-addled voice greeted him. “Dude, it’s like, 7 AM. On a Saturday.”

Peter glanced at the time on his phone, and winced. “Oh...I didn’t notice. I can call you later?”

“No, I’m awake now. What’s up?” There were sounds of shuffling on the other end, presumably his best friend getting up to face the day.

“I kinda need...I have a problem, Ned.”

“Like a Peter problem or a—” Ned lowered his voice conspiratorially. “—spider problem?”

“The second one.” After a moment, Peter added, “I’m sorry for waking you. I just need my guy in the chair.”

“Sweet! Make it up to me with breakfast.”

Peter lips twitched. “Sure. Diner?”

“Diner.”

* * *

_ Silvio’s _ was a simple little diner built into the corner of a street on the border between Brooklyn and Queens. It had been in business since before May was born, since she had mentioned eating there with her parents as a child. It was family-owned, and though it was popular enough to attract people all the way from Manhattan, it never seemed to run out of space to seat people. There were a handful of tables that spilled outside onto the sidewalk for those to enjoy a little outdoor eating, which was where Peter and Ned had chosen to sit, to better not be overheard.

“So let me get this straight,” Ned said, stabbing into his eggs while Peter shoveled in pancakes. “You found a guy with superpowers. You don’t know what his powers are, not completely, but you know they came from this...virus thing? The same virus an enemy of Iron Man’s made, and then blew himself up with?”

Peter nodded.

_ “Awesome,” _ Ned breathed, eyes wide.

“No, not awesome! Ned, I let him go, and I don’t know if I should have,” Peter groaned, dropping his fork on the plate. “Everything I know about Extremis tells me that this guy is dangerous to anyone he gets near. But I didn’t  _ think _ about that. All I thought about was how he hadn’t actually  _ done _ anything. And that was so stupid of me, because if he hurts someone, on purpose or not, that’s my fault. How could I think it would be okay to just...leave him be?”

Ned took a moment to respond after swallowing, his eyes soft. “You’re not stupid. You were trying to be fair. You said he sounded young, right?”

Peter nodded. “Like he was a teenager. Could be our age.”

“And he didn’t attack you. Maybe he wants a friend. Or he really  _ does _ want to be left alone. You’re not judge and jury, and you’re not wrong for giving someone a chance.” Ned resumed eating, and then added between mouthfuls, “What he does with that chance is on him.”

Peter frowned. Maybe Ned had a point. “But not telling Mr. Stark...”

“Yeah, probably not gonna earn any points with him,” Ned said, shrugging. “But, I mean, he’s  _ Iron Man _ . You know him a lot better than I do. If he found out this guy was running around New York, what would he do?”

That was a difficult question to answer. Peter did not know the extent of Tony’s history with Extremis, but it had happened before the Ultron Offensive and the destruction of Sokovia. Since that time, Iron Man had taken to responding to a crisis with little hesitation. The civil war between the Avengers, his intervention with the Vulture...Peter admired and respected his mentor immensely, but he couldn’t deny that if faced with a reappearance of Extremis, Tony might not listen to Peter. He might shoot first and ask questions later. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I think...I  _ know _ Mr. Stark will do everything he can to help people. Maybe he would try to cure Animus, since Extremis is basically a virus. But...”

But Iron Man was also bound by the Accords. Peter was exempt from them because of his “Stark Internship,” as far as he knew, but Animus had no such safeguards. There was nothing stopping the United Nations from sticking him in a cell on the Raft.

Christ, the Accords hadn’t even crossed his mind until now. What had he stepped in? The ramifications of his little nighttime encounter were escalating by the second.

“But even if he wants to help, he might not be able to,” Peter finished, his throat dry. “If he’s a bad guy, then I’ll contact Mr. Stark and we’ll bring him in. But if he’s not, then…maybe we can work something out.”

“You know, a year ago I would have told you that that is a dumb plan,” Ned said, smirking. “But now...I mean, we’ve got one supervillain under our belt. What’s one more?”

Peter chuckled, unable to say anything in response to that. He put Animus out of his mind and shifted the conversation back to school, and then the new LEGO set he and Ned were eyeing. Emboldened by their success with the Death Star, they had turned their attention toward the newly-released model of Starkiller Base. Easily three times the size of the Lego Death Star, Peter wasn’t even sure where they could  _ build _ the thing if they got ahold of it. Maybe he could convince Tony to let them use one of the rooms in the compound.

As they finished their food and left  _ Silvio’s, _ chatting about decathlon and Flash’s oversized ego, Ned invited Peter over for video games. Peter had nothing else to do and no reason to say no, plus the idea of a normal teenage Saturday was too inviting to pass up. Video games turned into a movie marathon, which turned into a late lunch with Ned’s grandmother. By the time they had excused themselves to the front steps of Ned’s apartment building, it was after four, and Peter was feeling  _ great.  _

“I missed this,” he said happily, drumming his hands on his knees.

Ned gave him a smug, yet slightly bemused look. “Is my Nana’s cooking that good?”

“No—I mean,  _ yes, _ but I’m talking about just...having a normal day.” Peter gestured up to the sky, the buildings around them. “A lot of times I’m up there, and it’s not every day I feel like I’m needed, y’know? Yesterday I was. But tonight...who knows.”

“Where’s this coming from, Peter?”

Peter turned his gaze to Ned, who had his brow furrowed, concern etched into his features.

Ned didn’t know the specific details of his fight with Toomes. No one did. When he had recounted that night to May, he’d omitted the specifics as best he could and glossed over the rest. He had been wearing his old handmade suit, where there was no Baby Monitor Protocol to record things. The only account of the Vulture’s takedown was Peter’s word. He didn’t tell anyone about the building falling on him, or the terrifying high-altitude duel, or narrowly surviving a plane crash and getting nearly beaten to death.

All in all, he thought he’d come out pretty okay from the experience. Sometimes he had nightmares, tight spaces made his heart race and breathing become shallow, but he was still in one piece. Two arms, two legs, all extremities and organs. That was a win, right?

And yet when he lay awake at night, unable to close his eyes without hearing the sinister whine of those mechanical wings, he confronted himself with an ugly truth: he had lost that fight.

Sure, Peter crashed the plane, grounded the cargo, but when the time came for them to trade blows on the beach of Coney Island it hadn’t been a contest. The Vulture had completely laid him out, overpowered him and left him helpless. He could have killed Peter right then and there, but his fixation on the Stark tech was greater than his desire to defeat Spider-Man. If it hadn’t been, Peter would be dead and the wingsuit would have exploded anyway. A nasty, doubt-sowing little voice hissed in the back of his mind that Toomes would have survived the explosion even without him. Peter didn’t have the confidence in himself to argue that.

He didn’t want to die. No one did. It was just part of the job, an occupational hazard. Privately, he could justify his failure if he had still made a difference. But when he had chosen to  _ act, _ to put himself at the crossroads of life and death, and saw that nothing would have been changed, he had to question whether anything he did mattered at all.

“Nowhere,” he said, and he knew he didn’t sound convincing, but he forged on. “It’s nothing, Ned. Just nerves.”

“Uh-huh.” Ned said, in his  _ that’s-bullshit _ voice. “Well, you matter to a lot of people. And you don’t need a reason to be worth something to someone. So if this stuff goes sideways, promise you’ll give me a call? You’re my best friend. We’re a team.”

Peter smiled. He didn’t know if he believed those words, but he trusted that  _ Ned _ believed them. Maybe that was enough. “Of course I will.”

* * *

An hour later, he was swinging from building, the city flying beneath him. He’d dropped his clothes off at the house and sent May a text letting her know where he would be. His weekend curfew was at 11, but he wanted to do something before he began his patrol.

Peter landed on top of a particularly tall building, and said, “Karen?”

_ “Yes, Peter?” _

“You said Mr. Stark put info on Extremis into the suit?”

_ “In my databanks, yes.” _

“Can you show me?”

_ “Certainly. One moment.” _

Several images and text windows blinked into existence across his HUD. Peter flicked through the files carefully, trying to absorb and retain as much as he could. He made out what must be the formula for it, but he could only understand a third of it. It was bleeding-edge stuff. But the more he read and reread, the more he understood.

Extremis was a form of artificial genetic manipulation. Created by Maya Hansen, it was both a computer virus and an organic virus. Nanotechnology was used to introduce Extremis into the host, powering itself off of the bioelectricity within the brain. It would alter various parts of the brain which allowed it to reconfigure the body’s cellular capabilities. The nanotech was, however, only the first stage. Once the body accepted Extremis, the nanotech would become dormant, and the body would continuously reproduce the alterations on its own, as they had become the new norm. This meant that Extremis couldn’t be suppressed, couldn’t be turned off, unless it was purged from a person’s body entirely. If the body didn’t accept Extremis, it would cause a chain reaction which resulted in a massive explosion—which caused the apparent terrorist bombings orchestrated by the Mandarin.

Extremis subjects had an extremely high body temperature, and incredible durability. Animus hadn’t registered that way on a thermal scan. 

“Karen, can you compare Animus’ Extremis with the original?”

_ “Of course, Peter.” _

The scans of Animus taken last night popped up, side by side with archived data of an original Extremis subject. Peter stared at it, then blinked twice.

“Uh, I’m not an expert at this stuff, but that doesn’t look at all the same to me.”

_ “Animus’ Extremis has been heavily modified. Its similarities with the original stem from their use in the brain and harnessing bioelectricity. It appears that this new form of Extremis affects the cellular makeup of his body much less than the original, likely so it would be more stable. I would hypothesize that Animus does not possess the regenerative qualities of a normal Extremis subject. He may have completely unrelated abilities altogether.” _

“You’re guessing?”

_ “I cannot confirm until proven or disproven.” _

He put his hands on his hips, as if he were a stern mother. “Okay, so what  _ can _ you confirm?”

_ “I analyzed him during his conversation with you. There are spikes in his brain activity consistent with high-intensity neuron firing. In normal humans, neurons transmit electrochemical signals through synapses approximately 200 times a second. I recorded Animus’ neurons firing roughly ten times that amount.” _

Two  _ thousand _ times a second? That was mind-boggling. Neurons fired when they received even the most mild sensory data—a gentle breeze, a feather-light touch, even temperature changes. They were the reason the people could detect the physical world around them. Peter’s own senses were much more extreme than a normal person’s, thanks to the spider bite. Perhaps Animus was the same?

_ “You have a heightened firing rate as well,” _ Karen said, evidently thinking along the same lines.  _ “However, Animus’ is significantly higher. If I had to guess how his empathy works…” _

Peter shrugged. “Guess away.”

_ “His sensory nervous system is so finely tuned that it has manifested as a sixth sense which can detect the changes in the the electrical signals of another person’s brain. He is quite literally feeling your limbic system as it processes your moods.” _

“That’s...kinda creepy.” Was it weird to feel a little violated by that? Even if it was a little cool.

_ “I am sure he would say the same of me scanning him. If that is indeed how his ability works, he cannot turn it off.” _

“Yeah.” He let out a breath loudly. “Karen, what do you think I should do with Animus? I can’t help but feel like Ned was right, he deserves a chance to explain and prove himself. Do you think I should give him that, or just go to Mr. Stark?”

To his surprise, Karen did not answer right away.

_ “Notifying Iron Man is the pragmatic solution,” _ she replied.  _ “However...I understand your hesitation.” _

He blinked. “You do?”

_ “Mr. Stark programmed me to have an adaptive consciousness. I am designed to learn and grow, along with you. He has also given me all data on the past exploits of the Avengers. After reviewing that, plus all of your recorded experiences, I believe most people deserve a chance to prove themselves. Perhaps more than once. Remember, after his experience in Afghanistan, many consider Tony Stark a case of a second chance.” _

She had a point. Peter bit his lip under his mask, then said, “I’m going to his house.”

He broke into a run toward the edge of the roof and vaulted off, firing a web line at the nearest skyscraper. The route to Castle Hill Point was relatively straightforward and uneventful—he only had to backtrack once, and paused to entertain a gaggle of kids with his acrobatics (he couldn’t resist their faces, and they knew it).

When he arrived at the house, he hesitated. Should he knock? Should he climb up the window to the room Animus had been in before? What was the protocol here?

He settled for knocking on the door twice, knuckles smacking loudly against the old wood. If nothing else, Aunt May did not raise an impolite boy.

There was no answer.

_ “He does not appear to be home,”  _ Karen said helpfully.  _ “Would you like me to scan for his emission trail?” _

“Sure.”

As the spectrograph blinked to life on his HUD, Peter pushed the door experimentally. It wasn’t locked, and swung open invitingly. He stepped inside. A little look around couldn’t hurt. Animus had practically invited him inside last night. 

And hoo boy, he hadn’t been kidding about the lack of upkeep. The house had been totally emptied of furniture, but a thick layer of dust clung to the floor and walls like paint. The front door opened straight into what was probably the living room--to the left was another room, and to the right he spotted tiles that indicated a kitchen. Across the living room was a staircase curling around a wall closet, leading to the second floor.

Peter paused, lingering in the foyer. 

“Hello?” he called. “Animus?”

No answer.

_ “Judging by the emission trail, he has not been here for the past hour,” _ Karen informed him.

That meant he had stuck around after their encounter the night before. He hadn’t packed up and ran. That was a good sign, right?

“Can you find him?”

_ “Yes. A city-wide scan will take several minutes.” _

In the meantime, Peter intended to look around. He walked throughout the ground floor of the house, inspecting the other equally worn, equally dust-caked rooms. The living room and the adjacent room to the left were completely untouched. The kitchen was the first room to show signs of life—there was a small collection of empty food tins, like the kind donated to charity, grouped in a trash can. Judging by the lack of dust on it, the can was Animus’ first addition to the house.

When his scrutinizing bore no more fruit, he moved upstairs. The second floor hall stretched the length of the house, dotted with three doors, all of them closed. The first one, directly across from the stairs, revealed a bathroom when Peter opened it. Idly, he wondered if the house had running water. It was doubtful, if it had been abandoned this long. Animus hadn’t seemed unkempt when they met, so perhaps he went somewhere else to take care of that business. 

The next door opened to an empty room, which Peter recognized as the one he’d seen Animus standing in through the window. Perhaps it was meant to be a guest bedroom? Other than the faint impression of dusty footprints, there was no sign of activity in it.

The third and final door revealed what had to be the master bedroom. It was twice the size of the other room, and unlike the rest of the house, had clearly been lived in. He could see the true color of the wooden floor, and the wallpaper had been ripped down to expose the blank, featureless grey paint beneath—evidence of an attempt to remodel. There was a mattress in the far corner of the room, devoid of even a bed frame. Next to it sat an electric lantern, like the one Ben had once bought for a camping trip, half a lifetime ago. Next to the mattress lay a backpack, which Peter refrained from inspecting. He ought to respect  _ some _ of Animus’ privacy.

But there was a photo sitting unprotected next to the mattress, which Peter did pick up. It had well-worn crease lines from being folded repeatedly, and frayed edges. It depicted a little girl with braces and pigtails, grinning widely at the camera. She stood in front of what looked like a large fish tank, and next to someone else, who had their arm around her shoulder. The corner of the photograph had been torn off, taking the face of the mystery person with it.

A sudden, intrusive thought surfaced in his mind. He could ask Karen to run facial recognition on the photo. She’d done similar things before, usually to criminals Peter was investigating. Maybe the identity of the girl could give him a clue as to who was behind the mask.

But the thought passed as quickly as it had come. He’d already overstepped by invading Animus’ living space, justified-as-a-superhero that might be. Looking at the photo felt like an extreme violation, as if he were peering through a keyhole, a witness to a sordid secret.

Animus wanted to earn Spider-Man’s trust. Peter had to respect that that was a two-way street.

A moment of contemplative silence passed, then Karen said,  _ “Location found. His trail leads out of the Bronx, toward Brooklyn. He does not appear to be moving fast.” _

Peter set the picture down and turned his back on the bed. Karen was already mapping a route through the city for him. “Alright, on my way.”

He shut the bedroom door behind him, then left the house and its mysteries behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ned is here! I love Ned. Everyone needs a Ned in their life.
> 
> This chapter primarily serves to raise questions and lay the groundwork for Peter's development throughout the journey of the fic--I've always thought that he would walk away from Homecoming lacking a different kind of self-confidence than the one he'd started out with. This kid likes bearing all the blame for things.
> 
> Next chapter will see Peter meet Animus again, but under very different circumstances...
> 
> As always, comments keep these chapters coming!


	3. Start Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter catches up to Animus and an uneasy alliance is formed, while the mystery around him deepens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titled after the song "Start Again" by OneRepublic
> 
> See the bottom of the chapter for art of Peter and Connor!
> 
> No chapter warnings!

Animus’ trail led Peter to the New York Harbor, near an abandoned grain silo which sat at the edge of the Hudson. As he landed atop the silo, he felt a unease trickle up his spine. The docks were quiet, only manned by a skeleton crew of workers, but it was much too early for the bulk of the workforce to have gone home. There were several dozen towers of shipping containers scattered about the docks, clustered around a handful of cranes, and a large cargo ship was drifting into port from the mouth of the river which flowed into the Atlantic Ocean. It was nearly six o’clock, and the sun had started its descent into the horizon. Pink and orange streaked through the sky, and the whole harbor was thrown into shadowy relief by the diminishing light.

“Karen, can I get a layout of the place?”

_ “Yes, though I would be unable to track Animus’ energy signature at the same time. The spectrograph only works as a primary function—it cannot be combined with other modes of vision.” _

“That’s fine, I know he’s here. I’ll find him the old-fashioned way.”

Night vision washed over his HUD, followed by thermal imaging, and then what looked like X-Ray. Then it returned to normal, and Karen said,  _ “There are 21 individuals present throughout the harbor. Four of them are preparing the dock to receive a delivery, likely from that inbound cargo ship. There are eleven others stationed around the perimeter as guards. And there is a group of six moving to intercept them from the east. All but two of these 21 people are armed. Facial recognition is impossible at this distance, but neither group is displaying the standard arms or tactics of the NYPD. Whatever is going on here seems highly suspect.” _

“Yeah, guns don’t really promote upstanding behavior,” Peter mused, turning his gaze east. If this was some kind of heist, or ambush, it would turn deadly very quickly.  He shot two strands of webbing to the nearest crane, pulled them taut, then adhered them to the roof of the grain silo. “That group of six, can I get to them before they attack?”

_ “You have one hundred seconds before they make contact.” _

There wasn’t time for stealth, and the area between the grain silo and and the docks was completely flat. Running would take too much time. Peter leapt onto his makeshift tightrope, and sprinted across it. If the hero business didn’t work out, at least his enhanced physiology ensured he had a future as a circus performer.

As he ran, Karen highlighted the group of six for him. There were two towers of shipping containers between him and them, and the group was only about twenty feet away from the nearest guard. When Peter neared the crane, he webbed the nearest tower and pulled, slingshotting himself into the air. He soared over both towers—and pounced directly on top of the ambushing group.

He had the element of surprise. Curling his body as he hit the ground, he landed on his hands and kicked the first, smallest thug with his feet. The thug hit the shipping container behind him with a loud bang, and crumpled. Peter rolled to his feet and webbed up the guns—automatic rifles, these guys weren’t playing around—of the nearest two attackers. 

“What’s up guys? Uh, I don’t think they allow those here. Shouldn’t there have been a checkpoint?”

Then he yanked them into each other and sent them sprawling. The remaining three guys trained their weapons on him, and fired without hesitation. Peter yelped and whirled to avoid the bullets, leaping up to the side of the nearest container. He kicked off it with one foot, and used the momentum to drive a punch into the jaw of the closest thug. 

“Okay, I know you’re supposed to be like, a macho hit squad and all, but seriously?” His spider-sense flared, and he whirled around to deliver a kick to one of the thugs’ head. “Usually the guys I fight scream ‘Oh no, it’s Spider-Man!’ or something!” The last one standing attempted to club him with his weapon, but Peter ducked under the lunge and landed an open-palm strike against his chest. He felt the cartilage bend and protest under his force, and he winced as the man dropped to his knees, wheezing. “Sorry dude. That’s gonna hurt worse when you wake up.”

It only took a single punch to knock him out cold. Peter knew he hadn’t hit hard enough to keep them all down, however, and sure enough the two he’d webbed together were already disentangling themselves. He could hear the one he’d kicked moving behind him, and the first goon he’d attacked was stirring, but he chose to ignore them in favor of the two in front of him.

“Look, guys, I’d love to help you sort out your beef with the other dudes on this dock, but my night has only just begun. I’m a busy spider.” He webbed one of the men toward him, clotheslining him with one outstretched arm, and kicked out the legs of the other. This time they didn’t get up.

Suddenly a gunshot echoed through the air, and Peter whirled around, muscles tensing to react.

The smallest of the group of thugs had recovered and turned on his partner, grappling with him for control of his weapon. He had it forced up into the air, as if trying to stop his larger comrade from shooting at Peter. As Peter watched, frozen in shock, the smaller goon wrestled the gun away from the man and clocked him with a wild haymaker, knocking him down. He tossed the gun aside without hesitation and turned around, allowing Peter a proper look which revealing a familiar-looking ensemble of dark leather, and a face mask.

“Animus?”

“You shouldn’t be here, Spider-Man,” he said exasperatedly, in lieu of a greeting. He rubbed his temples, and Peter felt slightly guilty for kicking him. Slightly. “Ugh. You need to—”

A burst of gunfire interrupted him, and Animus lunged, tackling Peter out of the way as shots struck the area where they had been standing. He dragged Peter behind a shipping container, flinching as a stray bullet struck much too close for comfort. Peter immediately shoved him off, and the two flattened themselves against the wall of the container.

_ “One of the guards on top of the containers detected your fight,” _ Karen informed him.  _ “He is calling for reinforcements.” _

“We’re gonna have company,” Peter said, checking his web-shooters. The cartridge was almost empty. He popped it out and slipped a new one in from a utility pouch on his waist. 

“Thanks for ruining my night,” Animus grumbled, as more bullets struck their cover.

Peter goggled at him. “I’m sorry, was I supposed to  _ ignore _ the guys with guns marching around a harbor? And you’re with them! What happened to earning my trust?” He huffed. “We are  _ so _ not good right now.”

“Be mad at me later,” Animus snapped back. “You took out my guys—you’re welcome for saving you, by the way—so either you help me get rid of these idiots, or you get out of my way.”

The gunfire stopped. Peter hesitated. “Get rid of them...”

“As in  _ knock them out _ .” Animus sounded offended. “I’m not killing anyone, ever, if I can help it.”

That didn’t erase the fact that he had been  _ leading _ a group of guys with guns, but this wasn’t the time to split hairs.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he warned.

Animus scoffed, but did not protest. Suddenly the burst of bullets began again, and they both jumped. 

“When he stops to reload again, I’m going to drop him,” Animus said. “There are more guards around. Keep an eye out for them for me.”

Peter nodded, eyes scanning the tops of the containers around them for an ambush.

A moment later, the gunfire subsided, and Animus struck.

His entire left arm glowed, coming to life with dark, pulsating energy. It coalesced into his palm, and he whirled out from behind the container, firing a bolt of black light from his hand. Peter poked his head out to watch as the bolt struck the gunman. It exploded upon impact, knocking down the man as if he were nothing but a sack of potatoes.

“Whoa,” he breathed.

_ “The gunman is unconscious and not wounded,” _ Karen said, unprompted.  _ “Capturing data for later analysis.” _

“We need to get out of here,” Animus said, ignorant of their exchange. “But I can’t leave my team.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate that,” Peter commented, as the pair approached the unconscious men.

“I could care less what they think. But if Hammerhead’s men find them, they’ll be killed. I’d rather not have to explain that.”

“Who?”

Animus ignored him, and began dragging the five gunmen together, in front of a shipping container. He gestured at the door. “Do you mind?”

Peter bent back the bar keeping the container locked, and slowly pulled the door open. He helped Animus put his team inside, then shut the door, but left it unlocked.

“So, who are you explaining all of this to?” he asked. Animus hadn’t exactly struck him as the leader type, but this was the first confirmation of another person involved.

“There will probably be more guards arriving on the ship,” Animus remarked, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Only an idiot would transport what’s on that ship without an armed guard.”

“Oh yeah?” Peter narrowed his eyes. “So what’s onboard?”

Again, Animus ignored him, simply choosing to break into a jog for the dock.

“Awesome,” Peter sighed, and hastily followed him. This night was not shaping up how he expected.

_ “Four of the fourteen remaining hostiles are moving in your direction,” _ Karen said.  _ “You should obtain higher ground.” _

“Wait! We need to go up,” Peter hissed, skidding to a stop. He pointed to a nearby crane.

Animus slowed and somehow managed to give him a disbelieving look from behind his mask. “They’ll see me climbing before I can get up there.”

“Well, we’re not splitting up.” Peter thought for a moment, then exclaimed, “Aha!”

“What?” Animus asked warily.

“Watch this.” He tapped the Spider-Man emblem on the front of the suit, and the spider-drone came to life, hovering between the two. “This is Droney. He’ll be our eyes and ears.”

Animus stared at Droney for a long moment. “That’s...okay.” He paused. “That’s been there this whole time?”

“I  _ know _ , right? It’s so cool. Droney, go give us some recon!”

Droney flew off, into the direction of the crane. Its camera feed blinked to life on Peter’s HUD, giving him a bird’s-eye view of the harbor. Indeed, four of the guards had broken away from their patrols and were several containers away from them.

“They’re coming from that direction,” Peter said, pointing to his right. “Ambush?”

“Ambush,” Animus agreed.

It wasn’t a fair fight. It couldn’t really even be called a fight. Several well-timed web grenades later, there were four very unhappy guards stuck to the side of a container, and that was four less guards for Peter and Animus to worry about.

“The more of their guys stop checking in, the more we lose the element of surprise,” Animus said as they ran past the struggling captives. “If we haven’t lost it already.”

The way he spoke, it sounded as if he was accustomed to thinking tactically. He talked more like a soldier than someone who could be his own age. This wasn’t the same Animus Peter had met last night, who joked and was surprisingly honest. 

Though, in hindsight, how honest had he really been?

They fought their way deeper into the docks, eliminating the remaining guards with ease. With Droney and Karen feeding them information on the guards’ movements, it was child’s play to defeat them. Animus, true to his words, had employed non-lethal takedowns only. Curiously, he did favor hand-to-hand combat over his abilities, despite the overwhelming advantage they gave him over a standard armed thug.

Peter tended to rely more on his acrobatics and gadgets than his fists. Ben had signed him up for karate when he was young, after bullies began to identify him as a vulnerable target. He hadn’t taken to it, nor had he progressed very far, but what he did remember came in handy these days. Despite this, he still didn’t have formal training on par with that of the Avengers. He guessed that was probably one of the reasons why Tony had ordered him to stick to the sidelines during the clash in Germany.

Animus was not the same. He had been trained, and trained well. He was no Black Widow, but he moved with merciless precision and his strikes had practiced power behind them. Where Peter disarmed and incapacitated his targets, Animus was much more straightforward and brutal. It seemed the more they worked together, the more pronounced their differences became.

After they cleared the maze of containers and the guards among them, they emerged onto a short, narrow dock. The cargo ship had already dropped anchor, and Droney’s camera told Peter that there were a handful of crewmen helping the remaining thugs unload the cargo. What that cargo was, Peter still had no idea. There were only a few containers aboard the ship, and only one was carrying something, but his suit’s X-Ray had been unable to get a look inside. Something was causing interference.

“I don’t think they know we’re here,” Animus whispered, as they slunk within the shadow of the ship. 

“Knock out the guys, call the police?” Peter asked softly.

“Whatever you say. I’m going to go through the ship. Can you get a closer look from the outside?”

“No, I don’t want to split up—”

Animus let out a groan of frustration and grabbed his arm, spinning him around so they were face to face. “Look, Spider-Man, you have a lot of questions and you’re probably pissed at me, and—no, you’re annoyed and distrustful.” He glanced down at his grip on Peter’s arm, which had begun to tingle, then quickly let him go as if burned. “It doesn’t look like it, but I’m more on your side than you think. That ship is carrying SHIELD contraband—all kinds of dangerous, advanced tech that shouldn’t be out on the streets. I’m supposed to steal it before it’s delivered to Hammerhead’s guys. But I want it gone. I want to destroy it, if I can. I can only do that if we work as a team, and part of that is splitting up to clear this ship of all the guards. So you  _ have _ to trust me. Please.”

Peter stared at him, digesting everything. He wasn’t sure he believed anything Animus said anymore, but there was a tinge of desperation to his voice that couldn’t be denied. He wanted to be believed. He needed it.

“Fine,” he sighed, turning toward the ship. “Don’t take too long, okay?”

He leapt over the water, sticking to the side of the hull. He could hear the crew shouting to each other as they worked—some orders, some insults. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Animus dart up the gangway into the belly of the ship. There was a loud whirring sound as the elevator within lifted up the containers to the deck. 

There wouldn’t be a better chance for cover than that noise. Peter crept toward the edge of the ship, intending to quietly pull himself up—

The second he reached for the ship’s railing, a large hand shot out to grab his wrist in an iron grip. Peter yelped as he was yanked off the wall, pulled onboard, then tossed aside. He bounced on the deck and rolled to a stop several feet later, his head spinning.

Stupid spider-sense. Why couldn’t it work 100% of the time?

“I expected an ambush,” growled a voice. It was thick, gravelly, but clearly enunciated, as if the Hulk had taken advanced speech therapy and then gargled rock salt. “But from one of Negative’s pets, not from the spider.”

Peter scrambled to his feet, adrenaline surging through him as he got a good look at his opponent.

His first thought:  _ Big. _

His second thought:  _ Damn, who dressed you? _

The man was indeed large, easily towering over Peter and built like a semi-truck. His face had an upturned, flattened quality to it, as if he had run headlong into a brick wall. He was dressed in an  _ extremely _ out-of-date pinstripe suit, with a red tie and neatly shined shoes. He had a pair of brass knuckles on each hand, and the whole effect made him seem as if he had stepped out of a 1920s gangster film. 

“Yeah, well, I expected an arms dealer, not Scarface,” Peter quipped. “Who are you?”

The other men on the deck drew their weapons, but the Scarface wannabe raised a hand. “Return to your duties. I will handle the kid.”

“I’m not a kid!” Peter protested, firing webs into his eyes. He was sixteen, for crying out loud!

The gangster stumbled, clawing at his face, and Peter lunged, aiming for a solid right hook into his jaw.

But when his fist connected, it was like punching vibranium. The bones in his hand screamed, and his entire arm went hot and then cold with shock. The gangster didn’t even react, he just backhanded Peter away as if he were a fly. Finally, he ripped off the webbing, and fixed Peter with a glare.

“What are you  _ eating, _ man?” Peter asked, clenching and unclenching his hand. Nothing felt broken, fortunately.

Just then, a hatch leading inside the ship burst open, following immediately by an unconscious crewman. Animus hauled himself out, scrambling out of the way as Scarface lunged for him. He fell into position at Peter’s side, hands glowing with the same black energy from before.

“I see you met Hammerhead,” he remarked. “Good job on the stealth!”

_ “That’s _ who Hammerhead is? Why didn’t you tell me when I asked?”

“I didn’t  _ know _ he’d  _ be _ here!”

“You argue like children,” Hammerhead said, cracking his knuckles threateningly. “Children who give away their presence by attacking all of my guards, who don’t stop to think.” To Animus, he said, “I expected more from Negative, and from one of his so-called demons. Perhaps when you and your friend are dead at his feet, and he is no longer protected by his anonymity, he will take me seriously.”

Peter glanced at his partner. “Uh, context? Who’s Negative? What’s he talking about?”

“He wants to kill us,” Animus grumbled.

“Oh, thank you. That wasn’t clear at all.”

Then Hammerhead rushed at them. Peter dove out of the way, while Animus leapt backwards, unleashing energy bolts from his hands. The bolts struck the gangster and exploded harmlessly against his skin, though they did cause him to stumble. Peter quickly emptied his entire web cartridge at the giant, covering him in dozens of sticky, ultra-strong strands. Hammerhead struggled, but the more he touched the webbing, the more it overwhelmed him. With his arms pinned to his sides, he could do nothing but wobble dangerously, and Peter quickly webbed his legs to the deck of the ship to keep him in place. For a moment, he was triumphant.

_ “That will not hold,” _ Karen said, as Hammerhead roared angrily.  _ “Peter, the spider-drone can see inside that shipping container. Animus was correct about its contents.”  _ A small video screen appeared in the corner of his HUD, showing a 3-dimensional map of the container and the cargo inside.  _ “It is not unlike the plane Toomes attempted to hijack last year. After SHIELD fell, Stark Industries attempted to keep dangerous resources out of HYDRA’s hands, but to this day a significant amount remains unaccounted for. I am detecting Chitauri weapons, inactive Life Model Decoys, the remains of Ultron sentries, even Dark Elf technology.” _

Peter wasn’t sure he wanted to be glad that Animus had been telling the truth. None of that could be allowed off the ship. He glanced at the container and the men surrounding it. They had their backs turned, evidently placing too much faith in their boss. “The cargo hasn’t been unloaded yet!”

“On it!” His partner responded by hurling energy bolts at the crewmen, striking them down before they could react. The glowing light on Animus’ hands flickered, then died. “Damn it,” he hissed, glancing at Peter. “Can you hold him off while I open that container?”

Peter ejected the spent web cartridge and slotted in another. “Uh, maybe. What are you going to do?”

“Something dumb,” he replied, already hurrying past Peter. “Go!”

Just then, Hammerhead ripped himself free of his bonds and whirled around. His eyes slid past Peter, to Animus, and he charged again.

Okay, this was happening. No time to protest.

“Nuh-uh, we gotta talk!” He threw out a web to snag his foe by the front, and pulled with all his might. Hammerhead veered off course, toward him, and Peter leapt over his head. He ducked under a blind strike from his opponent, and bounced out of reach.

“Seriously, I gotta know,” he asked, keeping his distance as Hammerhead lunged for him again. “What’s with the old gangster getup? Like, do you  _ want _ people know you’re a bad guy? Wouldn’t that kinda work against you? We’re not in a cartoon.”

“You will regret getting involved with us,” Hammerhead growled. “You have no idea what you are stepping in.”

“God, you even  _ sound _ like a corny movie villain,” Peter complained. “Why don’t you tell me something interesting? Like who this Negative guy is?”

Something flashed in Hammerhead’s eyes, a bloodthirsty rage which sent a chill down his spine. “He is a mistake to be corrected.”

“Ominous, but does he at least dress better than you?”

Behind his enemy, he could see Animus attempting to conjure up more energy from his hands. The light appeared briefly, flickering again, then exploded forth from his palms, slamming into the container. When Hammerhead turned toward the noise, distracted, Peter double-tapped his thumbs to his middle-fingers, and fired his web-shooters.

Twin strands of webbing ricocheted off of Hammerhead’s spine. They came flying back to Peter, who grabbed them and adhered all four ends to the ground, locking Hammerhead in place by the small of his back. 

The ricochet web was several times stronger than his standard webbing, but at the cost of its flexibility. Its primary purpose was to support large objects—like the elevator in the Washington Monument last year—but in a pinch it also served as a makeshift leash for cranky supervillains.

“Karen, did Mr. Stark put anything in your databanks about how to deal with this guy?”

_ “Unfortunately, Hammerhead’s indestructibility is both synthetic and biological in nature. It is difficult to quantify.” _

“Like Extremis?”

_ “No,” _ she replied. Peter ricocheted more webs off Hammerhead’s arms and shoulder blades, locking them to the ground as well.  _ “Extremis is easily detectable and alters the composition of the subject’s DNA. I detect no genetic tampering within Hammerhead.” _

There was a horrendous sound of tearing metal as the container finally buckled and gave way to Animus’ assault. The metal bloomed apart like a dying flower, creating a hole. Animus entered it, disappearing inside.

_ “Do you trust him to destroy the cargo?” _

Peter didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure trust mattered anymore.

“Call the police,” he decided. As an afterthought, “Thanks for your help, Karen.”

_ “Of course.” _

He turned away from his captive—then did a double take. 

“What’s that on your hand?”

Stepping around Hammerhead to face his front, he pried apart the large man’s fist, revealing a hammer-shaped tattoo between his thumb and pointer finger.

Peter let out a mock groan. “First Al Capone’s clothes, now you copy someone else’s ink? Have you no shame?” He leaned in closer to look Hammerhead in the eyes, attempting to sound as intimidating as he could. “There was another guy last night who had the same tattoo. He wasn’t very talkative, though. That cargo is bad enough, why are you starting shootouts in public?”

“My men know to hold their tongue,” Hammerhead said, a hint of smug pride seeping into his voice.

“Yeah, well, your men kinda suck,” Peter retorted. “You suck too, by the way.”

“And you talk too much.”

Peter hadn’t realized how close their faces had gotten—until Hammerhead drew back and slammed his forehead into his. He stumbled, stars spinning in his vision as Hammerhead heaved and wrenched himself free. He grabbed Peter by the throat, and—for the second time that night, no less—threw him across the ship. Peter flew ungracefully through the hole in the container, feeling white-hot pain lance up his arm as jagged metal snagged his arm. He crashed bodily into Animus, and the pair crumpled to the floor.

“Ow,” his companion groaned.

Head pounding, Peter rolled onto his stomach, still half-blind from the blow, and he heard metal groaning and twisting—then the moonlight overhead dimmed to a faint illumination as the twisted metal was bent and compressed to cover the hole that had been blown in it.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t kill you quickly,” Hammerhead’s voice came from the outside, muffled through the steel. “I still have a shipment to secure, and after all you’ve done tonight, I would like to take my time.”

He attempted to rise to his hands and knees—only for his back to hit metal. Hammerhead had compressed the ceiling of the container. He could only rise an inch or two off the floor.

_ No, wait— _

“Wait!” he shouted, trying to push the metal off his back. It wouldn’t budge. There was no response from the other side.

“Well, this is a disaster,” Animus said flatly.

He sounded closer, but Peter barely heard him. He was too busy hyper-fixating on the way-too-close surroundings, his heart beating in his throat.

He couldn’t see. He couldn’t move.

_ Hello? _

He was trapped. He was going to die here.

_ Hello! Somebody, please... _

Would it be slow?

_ I-I’m down here, I’m stuck… _

Would the metal collapse completely and crush him?

_ I can’t get free! _

His breath came in short, uneven bursts as he curled inward on himself, blood trickling down his arm and roaring in his ears. Behind his mask, his eyes were wet, but whether of frustration or fear he wasn’t able to say.

He couldn’t speak, his throat had closed up completely. He couldn’t breathe. His mask, his mask was too tight. It was choking him!

_ “Peter, I believe you are suffering a severe anxiety attack. I suggest—” _

Using his uninjured arm, Peter grabbed at the mask and pulled it off his face, Karen going with it. That helped, but not enough. He was still hyperventilating; why couldn’t he breathe?

Then something struck his cheek, hard. The shock of it momentarily jolted him back to reality, and he clung to that like a drowning man on a life preserver.

A flashlight clicked on, shining into his eyes. He blinked and looked away, and the light disappeared.

“Sorry,” Animus was saying. He had crawled until he was lying next to Peter on his stomach, and he sounded slightly fearful. “I-I wasn’t sure what to do. You weren’t—”

He stopped speaking abruptly, eyes widening as he stared in shock. Belatedly, Peter remembered his mask, now lying somewhere out of reach. 

Animus wasn’t seeing Spider-Man. He was seeing Peter Parker. Young, vulnerable, terrified Peter Parker.

Another bout of hysteria bubbled its way up his throat, because of  _ course _ this would happen. Animus seemed to see it before it reared its head, because he said, “Wait!” and Peter froze.

Slowly, he reached up and pulled off his goggles, then the mask covering the lower half of his face.

“Look at me,” he said, and Peter did.

His eyes were as deep green as a healthy forest, and his hair was dark like potting soil. It was short, but curled in wisps atop his head. His skin was russet-brown, like mahogany, and decorated an unexpectedly soft, youthful face. His lips were slightly parted and his brow was furrowed with concern, but it did little to make him appear older. There was blood dripping slowly from his nose, though he didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m…Connor,” he said, slowly, and Peter wasn’t sure if he was choosing his words carefully or trying to stay calm. “Connor, uh, Connor Tanyard.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he could speak yet, but he didn’t trust himself to try yet. He just nodded dumbly.

“So we’re even,” Connor continued, averting his eyes. “You know my face now. And we’re safe for the moment, I think. Hammerhead just bent the hole in the container closed. That’s why it’s so small in here. But it’s not gonna fall.” He paused, his gaze tentatively sliding back to Peter’s face. “Are you...okay?”

The small, rational part part of Peter which hadn’t succumbed to the panic was aware that this was all very weird. In the two days of their acquaintance, Animus had established himself as sarcastic, mildly irritating, and had random moments of disarming attempts at camaraderie. Peter could deal with all of that. It was easy to handle because Animus kept his distance, was never anything other than a mask.

He’d only known Connor for half a minute, but the naked concern and sympathy on his face was such a stark contrast to his alter ego that Peter couldn’t wrap his head around them being the same person. It was like flipping a switch—as if suddenly the night’s events hadn’t happened.

But they  _ had _ happened, and unexpected—albeit justified—anger surged past his lips next. “Yeah, I’m great. Real peachy. I mean, I met this dude who seemed like he might be alright, tried to give him a chance, and look how well that went.”

Connor flinched, but made no attempt to defend himself.

The anger ebbed from him as quickly as it had come, and the stinging pain in his arm reminded Peter of other things that needed addressing. Karen was gone, but fortunately his suit was still functional. He tapped his fingers and switched to the medical web. His position was terrifyingly cramped, but after a few tries he was able to spray along the cut he’d sustained. His leg was in a cramped position under him, but there was no room behind him to stretch out. He groaned, laying his uninjured arm under his ear as a pillow. He was way too overstimulated to actually relax, but it was a start.

“Well,” Connor said in a small voice, once Peter made no attempt to speak to him. “I could always...be honest now. We’ve got the time.”

Peter scoffed under his breath. That wasn't funny. 

“It might not change anything...and I don’t really think it should,” Connor pressed. “But we’re stuck here anyways, aren’t we? And it’s really all my fault. You’re the hero here.”

He did not answer at first. Ned and Karen’s words about second chances echoed in his head, haunting him. But did  _ everyone _ really deserve that?

Shame fluttered through him at that. If Ben were here, he would say yes, everyone deserves another chance. Even the mugger who shot him. 

“Fine.” He exhaled loudly, then said, “Hammerhead, Negative, who you are and where you came from, I wanna know all of it. Consider it a second chance.”

He thought he saw a glimmer of surprised gratitude in Connor’s eyes. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, like you said, we have time.” Peter shifted in his spot, trying to get comfortable. “Start at the beginning.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wonderful, wonderful art of Connor and Peter was something I commissioned way back when this fic was in its infancy. It was done by bumblevip on tumblr, who is an incredibly kind and talented soul. Check them out!


	4. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor tells Peter his story, while a certain somone comes to their rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Monster" by Imagine Dragons.
> 
> Chapter warnings: mentions of homophobia, an allusion to abusive parents, non-consensual drug use, minor character death.
> 
> This is Connor's exposition chapter! It's the first half of a major two-part exposition piece in the story. Next chapter will answer any questions that this chapter raises, so keep that in mind.

“I’m not from New York,” he began, settling into his spot on the floor. He bit his lip. “I was born in Florida. My family moved up to Baltimore when I was ten. It was my parents, me, and my little sister Holly. Our folks were hardworking, but stubborn and set in their ways. They weren’t the easiest to get along with. Neither was I, I guess. I always had a mouth on me, and would get into fights at school. Holly was the opposite. She was kind, and considerate, and a hell of a lot more emotionally mature than any six year old had a right to be. She was an angel.”

Peter remembered back to the photograph he’d found inside Ani—Connor’s house. “Your sister...”

He seemed to know what was trying to be asked. “She’s not dead,” he replied simply, a faraway look in his eyes. “She still lives in Baltimore. Still in the same house. I’m not there because my parents and I had a...conflict.”

“Conflict,” Peter echoed.

“Yep.”

A chill ran down Peter’s spine, the kind people feel when they suspect something they don’t want to be true. “Must, uh, must have been some argument.”

Connor smiled humorlessly. “It wasn’t verbal. My dad was a mechanic, so he does a lot of technical work. He fixes things with his hands. So when I came out, I guess he thought he could fix _me_ with them too.”

Something cold and small settled into Peter’s gut. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what.

“Stop it. Everyone gets that same look on their face.” Connor’s jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. “My parents kicked me out because they didn’t want a dirty faggot for a son. Wouldn’t be the first time it happened to someone. I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel pity for me or anything. I’m telling you because you want the whole story, and this is part of it.”

His expression and his words were aggressive. But in his voice, there was no fire. He just sounded tired, and that took all the bite away. Peter cringed when he heard the slur, but he could only nod in response.

Midtown High was a rather progressive school—there were several students open about themselves, but even still there were names called and a palpable dislike emanated from the minority of students who simply hadn’t accepted the inclusivity of their school. Peter had never gotten close to any of the LGBTQ students until his friendship with MJ. She dragged him and Ned to Pride that following school June, and the two boys represented as allies. May had even joined them briefly after her shift at the hospital, but had excused herself as the day went on.

Sometimes it was easy to forget one lived in a bubble of tolerance, and that it wasn’t universal.

“I got kicked out in 2014, when I was thirteen,” Connor continued. “Really young. Way too young. I had no idea where to go. Looking back, obviously it was the police, but I didn’t trust them. I was upset, and I wanted out of the area. I managed to get a ride on a bus leaving Baltimore—I think the driver saw my bruises and took pity on me as long as I didn’t tell anybody—and I stayed on that bus all the way until it reached New York. The drivers change hands there, so I had to get off or I’d be caught. I thought someone would try to stop me, but it’s amazing the lengths people go to to not ask questions or care about something suspicious.

“I was making a lot of stupid decisions. It hadn’t even been a full 24 hours since I had been kicked out, and I was already in another state. I ended up finding a F.E.A.S.T. shelter, but when they tried to ask about my family or where I came from, I clammed up. One of the workers threatened to kick me off to CPS if I didn't give them something. I wasn’t the only one, either. There was another girl there too, a little older than me. She’d been on the streets a lot longer, wouldn’t talk much, but us kids...had to stick together, I guess. Her name was Silvia Sablinova. She said she’d just come for a hot meal. At night, she broke a window and climbed out. I don’t quite know why I followed her. Maybe I wanted to hope there was more out there. She didn't stop me from following her.

“Did you know New York City has about 60,000 homeless people? They’re everywhere, and a lot of them are whole families. They say one in every thirty kids in the city are homeless. But those who aren’t, well...sometimes there’s community, sometimes there is anarchy. Most people tend to be nice, though. They're the ones who have been on the streets long enough know everything’s easier if you have cooperate, and they share what little they have. The people who didn’t learn that, they’ll chase you out of a space they’ve claimed, or worse they rob you.”

Peter nodded. He had seen his fair share of the least-fortunate suffer at the hands of others during patrol. No matter how many times he stepped in to stop the violence, it seemed the problem would need a stronger hand than his to guide it to a solution.

“We drifted around the city for maybe...a month? Not very long by the standards of many, but for me it was difficult. Silvia introduced me to the people she was friendly with, some of them who hadn’t had a place to call their own in years. We ended up settling at a large camp, down in one of the abandoned subway stations. It was probably the first semi-permanent home I’d had since coming to the city. We traded what we could scavenge to get what we needed. Silvia showed me how to survive, and became the first friend I’d had in a long time. None of it was perfect. None of it was ideal. But it was the start of something, I guess.”

Connor’s expression darkened. “Then our group grew too noticeable, and the police started cracking down on our presence. Eventually they forced everyone out. They were trying to get everyone to go to F.E.A.S.T., but Silvia and I weren't going to do that again. Maybe if we had, things would have been different. But instead, we just ran. Once again, we had nowhere to go, and we were desperate. That's how we met Mallen.”

He frowned. “Mallen?”

“That’s his title. Like I’m called Animus. I don’t know his real name.” Connor paused, and Peter let him collect himself. “He was looking for volunteers for some kind of project. A drug trial, real hush-hush. In the past, Silvia had donated her blood for cash when she could. To her, this wasn’t all that different, and I was too young to know any better. Honestly, we should have known something was up when he didn’t ask us about our families or where we were from.” His mouth twitched upward, but there was no humor behind his eyes. “That’s how it goes, right? We should have known better, but we didn’t. We could have said something, could have done something. But we chose not to. By the time we realized our mistake, it was too late.

“He took us to a warehouse that had been turned into a kind of makeshift laboratory. There were easily a few dozen other people there. More homeless, some of them Silvia and I knew. That let us drop our guard even more. The rest were a handful of doctors. And there was a...man, in a white suit. His skin was black. Not ethnic black, I mean midnight black. Like he was made out of darkness. His name, though I wouldn’t learn it until later, was Negative. When I saw him, I got scared, but I didn't run. I didn't want to leave Silvia.

“He had the doctors line us up, said all we needed was to get a shot, and we’d get paid and a complimentary meal. We were told the shot was a simple immune booster, just experimental. Other shelters had done similar things in the past, trying to vaccinate people on the street so they didn’t get sick. It was all so...familiar.”

He shuddered visibly. “It was like they’d injected me with pure fire. I’d _never_ felt so much pain before in my life. I wanted to die, and when I passed out from the pain I thought I had. When I woke up...” Connor closed his eyes. “I was alive, but nearly everyone was dead. Silvia had lived too. So had four others. All the rest...there were easily forty people who hadn’t survived.

“We were rounded up, caged, and taken to an underground facility. Mallen hovered nearby, on guard while Negative and his people poked and prodded us, trying to understand what they’d done to our bodies. They implanted us with microchips, which Negative can use to track us. The next step was forcing us into obedience, getting us to practice our abilities.”

 _Like training an attack dog._ Now it was Peter’s turn to shudder.

The story continued. “He gave us different names, and they were all we knew each other as. Calypso. Bombshell. Laser. Rhino. He called Silvia Sable. And he called me Animus. He forced us to work together, to learn to cooperate. And with Mallen leading us, we became the Inner Demons.”

“That’s a little on the nose.”

Connor smiled wanly. “We are what we are, I guess.” He took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly. “The organization as a whole is called the Syndicate. We operate under Mallen, but he’s not in charge. He’s just Negative’s right-hand man. After the Inner Demons were formed, he left us under Mallen’s supervision. The doctors...I never saw them again. I can guess what Negative did to them, though. Since then, I’ve only been face to face with him three or four times, and I still don’t know anything about him. He’s...strange. He lets us go on with our lives on the streets, provided we don't do anything to compromise his operations. But when he calls, we have to come. If we don’t...”

He scratched his neck, and Peter had a feeling he knew where his microchip was.

“You hate him,” he said softly. “I don’t blame you.”

Connor snorted. “Hate is too kind. I _despise_ him. I _loathe_ him. I think all of the Inner Demons do, except maybe Mallen. Sometimes I think all we know is hate.”

“You’ve never thought about fighting back? There’s only one of him. Or going to the police?”

“Assuming they didn’t lock me up on sight?” He shook his head. “Fighting him is impossible. Silvia...she tried.

“In the beginning, we were all there was of the Syndicate, so Negative sent us to spread his influence throughout the city. Attack rival gangs, smuggle weapons and drugs into the city, that kind of thing. Small operations, he said. He wanted us to sow chaos, but not attract attention. We were trained, and mostly obedient, but also rebellious and angry and scared. Silvia and I didn’t want _any_ part of this. We would be making the city worse, and the people had already suffered enough after the Chitauri attack. She convinced me we could overpower Negative if we ganged up on him. We would cut the head off the snake, as she put it.

“I don’t know how he found out about the plan to rebel. Maybe someone overheard and snitched. Maybe he was spying on us. But the next time he called all the Inner Demons to meet him, he had Silvia beaten into the ground at his feet. He said that our world had changed, and we needed to understand that our lives were his. He demanded our loyalty, said that he had picked us out of our old lives and given us food, shelter, a purpose, so it was only fair. It was expected. He wanted to hear us agree with him, and I did, because I didn’t want Silvia to be hurt anymore. But she attacked him instead, so he shot her. Maybe that would teach us a lesson, he said.”

Unbidden memories surfaced in his mind, of kneeling on wet pavement, hands stained with blood that wasn’t his. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Connor swallowed, and in a small voice he said, “He invested so much time and energy into building us into this team, I didn’t think we were expendable to him. Ever since then, I...I’ve been too scared to fight back.”

“Not too scared to blow up this cargo he wants,” Peter pointed out.

Through the dim light of the flashlight, he saw his companion shrug. “That was more opportunity than anything. It hadn't been possible until you knocked out all the guys Negative sent with me. Then I thought, maybe there was a way I could stop Hammerhead _and_ Negative. Lot of good it did us.”

“You don't think it counts for something?”

“I've done a lot of work for Negative over the past three years, Spider-Man. One half-cocked attempt at sabotage doesn't really make up for that. But it might have made me sleep better at night.”

At the mention of sleep, Peter asked, “So...Negative lets you do what you want, that’s why you started living in that old house?”

“Basically.” Connor fidgeted. “Subway was a no-go, and I didn't want to put the people in the F.E.A.S.T. shelters in any danger. The rest of Inner Demons live together, and they change locations often, so sometimes I would join them. But they're bullies who know a target when they see one, and that’s usually me because I'm the youngest. When it would get really bad, I'd leave to find my own place, and I’d only ever see them if Negative paired us up for a mission. But, because I needed food and shelter sooner or later, I would always come crawling back to them. That house you found me in was my latest claim. I guess I thought it could be a nice home away from Negative and the Syndicate.”

“So what’s Negative's problem with Hammerhead?”

“I don’t know.” When Peter gave him a skeptical look, he said, “I really don’t. Negative isn’t exactly someone you want paying attention to you, so we all stay out of his way. He doesn’t forgive mistakes or annoyances. But I do know that Hammerhead’s organization is called the Maggia, and they showed up not long after Silvia died. Suddenly, Negative was sending us on more and more missions, as if he’d been expecting them. We’ve been targeting them ever since. It’s scorched-earth. He wants them completely gone.”

Peter felt a prickle of unease. “When you say gone...”

The pause before Connor’s reply was so long that Peter prepared to hear the worst. “I’ve never taken a life, if that’s what you want to know. So far, Negative has never sent me out specifically to _kill_ someone. Laser’s abilities make him a better assassin, anyway. I won’t lie, I _have_ hurt people, but if someone ran then I let them go. Mallen _enjoys_ killing, and the other Inner Demons follow his example. Part of me thinks that’s only because they’re scared of him. I like to hope they’re not as twisted as him.”

“You were leading a group of guys with guns, though.”

A sigh. “Yeah. As useful as the Inner Demons are to Negative, we also attract attention. When he began open warfare against the Maggia, he hired some mercenaries to be old-fashioned muscle for the Syndicate. He doesn’t need an army, because he has us, but they do a lot of his underhanded dirty work. In that respect, I guess we’re like Negative’s lieutenants.”

Peter nodded. It wasn’t a great answer, but...it could have been worse. “And if you were told to kill someone? If the men you were leading were going to kill someone, would you stand by and watch?”

Connor’s pause was significantly shorter this time. “I didn’t let them kill you, did I?”

“No,” Peter acknowledged, raising one eyebrow. “You didn’t.”

“Well, that’s the whole story. Or, everything I know about the whole story.” He heard Connor’s hands clap together once. “Do you feel any better?”

“I...” Peter blinked. He hadn’t even remembered what began their conversation in the first place. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant subject, but it _was_ distracting from his anxiety. “Yeah. I think so.” Then, struck by the sudden, bizarre urge to repay his kindness, he said without thinking, “My name’s Peter.”

Connor made a choking sound, as if caught off guard. “What? Why would you...”

“You told me your name,” he replied, suddenly feeling defensive. “Should I have waited until _you_ have a panic attack?”

“No, that’s not—” Connor seemed unable to form proper sentences. “Um, thank you. Peter. Is there...anything else?”

He considered this. “Well, I learned some things about your abilities you might not know. The stuff that gave you your abilities is called Extremis. Karen kinda...scanned you.”

The other boy’s eyes widened. “Who is Karen? Shouldn’t she buy me a drink or something first?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “She’s the program in my suit. She gives me advice and helps me out on patrol. She’s the one who found you last night.”

He didn’t seem mad about his privacy being invaded—which was good, because despite their situation it was weirdly important to Peter that they get along. “Can she hear us? Can she call for help or something?”

Damn it, why didn’t he think of that? “Uh...” Peter scanned his field of vision for his mask, but it remained elusive in the darkness of the container. “If I can get to my mask, probably!” He wasn’t sure if he should mention Karen had a direct line to Tony Stark.

“I’ll look for it.” Connor began to inch his way past him, exploring what little room he had. Outside, Peter’s enhanced hearing could pick up the sounds of shouting and gruff voices. Hammerhead must have roused his unconscious crew, or called in new new bodies to move the container.

“Can you tell me about Extremis?” Connor asked as he moved along the container. “What is it?”

He hesitated for the briefest moment—then he quelled his suspicion. He deserved to know what had been done to him, didn’t he?

“It’s genetic modification,” he began, twisting his hands together. “It rewrites how your body functions on a cellular level. The original Extremis augmented the body’s ability to command cells, which is done via the bioelectricity conducted by a firing neuron, and that's why they could do things like regenerate and enhance their strength. It’s actually really fascinating, because neurons fire so quickly and they control so much more than just sensory data, like your bodily functions and your immune system. There could be so much done with it, it could even cure cancer if we’re lucky—”

“You’re losing me,” Connor cut in, sounding vaguely amused. “But I understand what genetic modification means. I think.”

Peter’s mouth snapped shut, and he felt his face warm up. “Sorry.”

“So if this Extremis is what made me like this, is there a way to fix it?”

He bit his lip. “I’m not sure.” Tony would know. He really _should_ have called him. “What else can you do? How do your powers work?”

“Well…” Connor began slowly. His movements had shifted again, sounding farther away. “You know I'm an empath. If I touch someone, I can feel their emotions. But if I want to...I can also drain people.”

“Like a Dementor?”

“Later, when we’re free, I’m going to enjoy the fact that Spider-Man reads Harry Potter.”

Peter stuck out his tongue, not that it would be noticed in the dark. “Everyone’s read Harry Potter.”

“Fair. But I think the empathy is a side effect, honestly. When I drain people, it's not their emotions I take.” There was a tentative pause, and then he continued. “My _real_ power is over...I'd say life force, except that sounds dumb when I hear it out loud. Vitality, maybe. Energy. Call it whatever you like. But when I drain someone, _that's_ what I take from them. So yeah, I can feel someone's emotions harmlessly, but if I decide to drain them, what that _does_ to them...it's a parasitic connection. It's like I hack my way right into their brain, hijack their body and command it to give me _everything_ it has. I don't yet know how badly I can hurt someone with it, and I don't want to find out.”

He didn’t have a response to that. Again, Peter’s moral compass was thrown out of whack. Such a dangerous ability would threaten anyone near him, but then, had Connor ever been given the choice to use it? “So you can absorb the life from people. What do you do with it?”

“That's the fun bit,” was the bitter, sarcastic reply. “It’s energy, no matter what form it takes. I can use it to heal myself or harm others. When I do, it manifests in the form of that energy you saw me use. The black light. So if I'm hurt or I'm out of juice, I can grab the nearest person and take what I need from them. And I can generate a fair amount of power on my own, but there are limits. I can't heal myself with my own energy. If I reach my limit and keep going, and I _don't_ drain someone, my body will consume itself to fuel my powers. Otherwise, I need to recover slowly, naturally. Usually that involves lots of sleeping and eating.”

“You said Laser had different powers than you.”

“Yeah, we’re all different from each other, though there are some similarities. Calypso’s a telepath, similar to like how I’m an empath, and Bombshell’s got energy powers too. Rhino and Mallen are super strong and tough, though Mallen’s got more abilities than anyone else. Silvia was able to generate a static charge from her skin, that she could use to stun people, and she could blend into an environment if she kept still. Negative thought she would work well with Laser’s teleporting powers, so he wanted to pair them up.”

“What about Negative himself?”

There were more scrambling sounds as Connor shifted around the container. “He’s on a whole other level. He’s stronger than Mallen or Rhino, and he shrugged off Silvia’s static like it was nothing. I think everything about him is superhuman, and when he touches someone, he can dominate them. They become brainwashed and obey his every command. It’s not perfect control, I’ve seen people break out of it, but...most don’t. He has an energy he controls too, and he can charge objects with it. I don’t know where it comes from, but I’ve never seen him get tired from using it.”

Well, that all sounded horrifying. “Speaking of getting tired, when you said you were going to do something dumb...”

“Yeah. I had reached my limit, but I drained myself anyway to open this container.”

 _Damn._ “Are you okay?”

“I'll live. It's not that bad this time. I just...have to figure out what I’m going to tell Negative. Failure’s one thing, but teaming up with you... Aha!” Before Peter could respond to that, something soft and loosely crumpled bounced off his cheek. “Coming your way.”

“Thanks.” He slipped the mask on, grateful to be at home in his suit again. Spider-Man was stronger than Peter Parker could ever be. “Karen?”

 _“Hello, Peter. Are you okay?”_ Her synthetic voice couldn’t exactly convey the same level of emotion as a person, but when she asked, he wondered if he was just imagining the concern he heard.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Connor—uh, Animus helped. We need to find a way out of here. I could probably bend the metal, but I don’t really have any room to get a good grip.”

_“Not to worry. Mr. Stark is inbound to assist.”_

“What?” he yelped, attempting to rise again, only for his head to connect with the metal overtop him.

 _“When I was unable to communicate with you, I grew concerned,”_ Karen replied, as if she hadn’t just dropped a megaton nuke on him. _“There are security protocols in place for such situations. I activated them.”_

He groaned, rubbing his scalp. “Let me guess, this would be that Emergency Babysitter Protocol?”

_“Correct.”_

“This is really weird to watch,” Connor commented. He’d crawled his way back over to Peter. “But should I be concerned?”

“Karen called for help when I took off my mask,” Peter explained miserably.

“You don’t sound happy about that.”

A muffled explosion sounded in the world beyond, and he heard panicked yells as well as the telltale whine of repulsors. Suddenly the entire container jolted, unbalancing the both of them. As he smashed into Connor, Peter felt a sudden swooping in his gut, the same kind one felt in an elevator. The container had lifted into the air. By a crane, or…?

 _“Hey, kid,”_ a familiar voice spoke in his ear. _“Gotcha. Gotta say, I didn’t expect this call.”_

“Uh...me neither, Mr. Stark.”

_“Friday says you got someone else in there with you. You okay?”_

“Yeah, he’s...” Peter hesitantly glanced at Connor, who was hurriedly putting on his mask and goggles. “He’s a friend.”

_“It’s not that Leeds kid, is it? Because I definitely didn’t make him a suit, and no offense, but one teenage vigilante on my conscience is enough.”_

“No!” He was panicking. How was he supposed to explain any of this to Tony? The Extremis, Negative, Hammerhead, any of it? This wasn’t another high-tech arms dealer. This was a superpowered gang war. This was the kind of thing the Accords had been written for.

He was definitely going to take away the suit again.

The container dropped to the ground with surprising gentleness, and then Tony said, _“Okay, stand back, I’m gonna cut this open.”_

Peter scrambled as far away from the twisted metal as he could, pulling Connor with him. Several red lights shot through the container, melting it apart, and silvery moonlight flooded inside. Peter blinked, his eyes adjusting quickly, and he quickly leapt out.

Iron Man had quite literally picked up the container, it seemed, and deposited it on a hill on the other side of the Hudson. Battery Park, he realized after a moment. He could see a spherical sculpture behind his mentor, who had his arms crossed and was waiting for an explanation. He wasn’t wearing the Mark L, and Peter was a little surprised—last he’d heard, the nanotechnology development was going better than ever. He’d never seen this armor before, but it had to be the Mark 48—its design harkened back to the original red-and-gold color scheme, but with streaks of silver running up its sides, as well as accenting the armor’s edges. Its helmet had retracted into the suit, and behind it Tony looked slightly more sleep-deprived than usual. Juvenile excitement bubbled up in Peter, having never dissipated since childhood, because yeah he probably wasn’t thrilled right now but he was still _Tony freaking Stark._

“More gun-runners? I thought Vulture’s crew left the city after you smeared him across Coney Island.”

“Not just guns. Did they get away?” Peter asked immediately, ignoring the question.

Tony raised an eyebrow slowly, and he answered, “Probably. I just wanted to get you and this stuff out of there. If they’re not going to jail tonight, I’d rather them go home empty handed, at least.” He pointed to the container. “Not that I’m not a fan of busting up some illegal smuggling, but your technique needs some work. You’re supposed to _take_ the contraband, not lock yourself up with it.”

“Yeah…I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.” Peter scratched the back of his neck. “There was a guy.”

“A guy,” Tony repeated disbelievingly.

“A _big_ guy. Really tough, like he was made of metal. He bent the container after we blew a hole in it.”

“Okay. This metal man have a name? What’s his—” Tony paused. “Right, who exactly _is_ we?”

“His name is Hammerhead,” Connor announced, emerging from the container slowly. He’d disguised his face once again, and moved with care, deliberate but extremely reluctant to approach. When he took in the sight of Iron Man, he froze in his tracks, like a deer in the headlights.

“Okay, so you _are_ with a teenage vigilante, just not the one I expected,” Tony commented, rolling his eyes. “What’s your name, Goggles?”

“T-this is Animus,” Peter answered before Connor could speak. This was going to go bad so fast. He was so dead. “He helped me tonight.”

“Right.” Tony cocked his head to one side slightly. “Is it still helping if you get him captured?”

The other boy tensed, as if anticipating more than a verbal jab. “He wasn't in any danger from me.”

“That’s good, because I’d hate to see what you trying to endanger him on _purpose_ looked like.”

 _“Peter,”_ Karen cut in. _“Connor is agitated. His energy levels are rising.”_

Icy fingers closed around Peter’s heart, and the next few seconds happened painfully slow. He could see Tony’s expression twitch, change to confusion as Friday relayed the readings she was undoubtedly getting.  Then confusion morphed into surprise, followed quickly by anger as the word “Extremis" was undoubtedly dropped in his ear.

His heightened senses saw Tony’s movements a mile away. Before he could fully raise his arm to level a repulsor at Connor, Peter reacted. Without thinking he snagged the armored limb with a web, holding it back.

Both Connor and Tony swiveled their heads to stare at him. Connor’s expression was unreadable behind his mask, but Tony’s was a mixture of shock and anger.

“I—” Peter stared at the webbing he held, unable to believe what he had just done. “Mr. Stark, he saved my life,” he continued. He didn't feel quite as confident as he hoped he sounded, but he tried his best to have a stern expression on his face. “He’s got Extremis, yeah, I know that. Doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t _matter?_ It does matter,” Tony snapped. “You don’t know what he has in him, not like I do.”

With one hand, Peter gestured exasperatedly at the nearby container. “He didn’t do anything to me while we were trapped in the box!” Desperately, he turned his attention to his peer. “Animus, please. Tell him what you told me. We can help you.”

They locked eyes, and Peter could only guess his emotions behind the goggles, but he had to _hope_ that Connor believed him. He wanted out of the Inner Demons, he wanted to escape from Negative, right?

Tony’s nostrils flared. “Kid...”

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispered. The jagged edge to his voice sunk deep into Peter, like a knife between the ribs. “He… If I… He’ll hurt you. I’m _sorry._ I can’t.”

He stumbled backward, away from them, and Peter wanted to call out for him, but he couldn’t find his voice. A second later, and Connor was running off into the night.

Yup, he was pretty sure he was doomed.

A split second later, Tony wrenched himself free of the webs entangling him. His helmet folded around his head, as if he were preparing to pursue, so Peter quickly stepped in front of him.

“Mr. Stark, _please.”_

He knew he’d screwed up monumentally. He’d let Connor go, kept everything about him a secret, tackled a gang of armed and enhanced smugglers without backup, and _webbed up_ Iron Man. There was no way there wouldn’t be consequences. But Connor had given him a wealth of information, and Peter just couldn’t ignore that. Neither should Tony.

* * *

Friday placed a call to the NYPD, to pick up the SHIELD cargo, but they would be long gone by the time cops showed.

The compound was normally a 2 hour drive from city limits. Tony’s suit could make the journey in a few minutes, but not Peter, and he refused to be carried like an overgrown infant. So Tony ordered him to a nearby rooftop, and then promptly accelerated ahead without waiting for a response. By the time he reached the target building, Tony’s armor was retracting into itself. It stopped after turning itself into the shape a vest.

As Peter landed on the roof, Tony crossed his arms. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

There was an uncomfortable pause where Peter’s words failed him. Short, clipped words and no nicknames. He was _definitely_ dead.

Tony then eyed the cut on his bicep. “You should get your arm bandaged.”

The medical webbing had done its job, but it would begin to fail soon. Peter glanced at it as well, as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh...I think it’s stopped bleeding. It’ll be gone tomorrow.”

His mentor grunted in response, but said nothing further. He seemed to be stewing in his own head, mulling over the impending conversation. It was doing nothing to help Peter’s anxiety.

The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them. “Please don’t take the suit again, Mr. Stark.”

Tony’s eyes widened, and he made a poor attempt to hide his snort. “Take it? Jesus, kid, if I thought taking the suit would keep you safe and out of trouble I might not have given it back to you in the first place. We both know you’re gonna go be Spider-Man regardless. I’d rather you _not_ do it in your sweats.”

Peter frowned, though some of the tension left his body as he relaxed. “I thought you were mad.”

“Oh, I am. Trust me.” He gestured toward him. “But you wanted the floor, so...”

Once again, his throat closed up. He wasn’t _afraid_ of Tony, not at all, but despite what had just happened he wasn’t keen on earning his ire. Was Connor really worth that?

Maybe not. Iron Man didn’t seem to think so. But now that he’d seen it, it was hard to forget the face underneath the Inner Demon’s mask.

Evidently, Tony decided that the silence had gone on long enough, because he said, “Alright, my turn. The metal man. Hammerhead. What do you know about him?”

That wasn’t where he expected the conversation to start, but Peter wasn’t going to question it. “He runs a gang called the Maggia.”

“Maggia?” Tony frowned. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Last time I heard that name was when Jarvis caught me sneaking around my dad’s things, when I was eight. Didn’t think they were still around. What’s their deal?”

That added even more mystery to the situation, and he desperately wanted to ask why _Howard Stark_ was connected to the Maggia, but Tony’s father was a delicate subject at the best of times. “Um, they’re fighting with another gang called the Syndicate over control of the city. The Syndicate’s a lot stronger, but they’re a smaller group. I think they have the Maggia on the run. Plus, Hammerhead isn’t exactly mounting an attack or anything. But both sides wanted that cargo.” Peter paused. “Are you going to call the FBI or something?”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe. Haven’t decided yet. These guys have more people than Toomes’ crew, and their indestructible leader makes them a little out of the FBI’s league. Plus there’s the whole Extremis thing to consider.”

Here we go. “Mr. Stark,” he began. “About Connor—”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, so it’s _Connor_ now? Peter, what do you _know_ about Extremis?”

Peter blinked, and wrung his hands together. Was this a test? “Um...it’s genetic manipulation. Rewrites the body’s abilities and the limits of its functions. Created by AIM—”

Tony shook his head. “Nope.”

Peter froze. “No?”

“Extremis wasn't created by AIM.” Tony exhaled loudly, rubbing his temples. “It was thought up by a botanist, Maya Hansen. Years ago, she laid the foundation, and I worked out some of the kinks in it as a...favor to her. Then Maya took all of it and gave it to a think tank. AIM. They took that ‘genetic manipulation’ and turned it into what it is today. Not a tool, or a cure for cancer. Maybe it could have been, one day, but it’s a _weapon,_ Peter. It’s never been anything else.” A bitter edge seeped into his voice. “The only thing Extremis does is kill people. It killed Maya and dozens of innocent people. It almost killed Happy and Pepper. I thought it was over and done with, but if it’s still around, all that means is more people are using it to hurt others.”

Peter hadn't known all that, but he did know his mentor well enough to see past the words. “It’s not your fault that this happened, Mr. Stark.”

Tony waved off his attempt at consolation. “I think I’m too used to hearing that for it to be true, kid.” He put a finger to his ear, where Peter knew there was a communicator. “Friday? Pull up that file on the original strain of Extremis that’s in storage.” He glanced at Peter, then said, “Access the Baby Monitor Protocol too, copy all recordings within the past 72 hours and send them to my personal server. Start compiling similarities between the original Extremis and the one from tonight. Look for vulnerabilities, structural anomalies, that kind of thing, for the next time we cross paths.”

Peter’s mouth fell open. _“What?”_

“Trust me, I am still the better option for your little friend. The only reason I don’t call Ross right now to tell him about the latest enhanced running around the city is because you vouch for him,” Tony said, with a note of bitterness in his voice.

“What good is that if you’re gonna hunt him down anyways?” He resisted the urge to pull out his hair. How could Tony _do_ this? “I told you, he saved my life! He’s not a bad guy!”

The older hero’s expression soured. “Really? Because it looks like he’s caught up in the middle of this. I’m not an idiot, kid. Why else would he run? How long have you known him? Because you’re awfully quick to jump to his defense. Loyalty is admirable and all, but you’re out of your depth. You offered him a chance, and he ran. He’s guilty. You have to trust me on this.” His tone was edging into “the adult is talking” territory, but Peter was too worked up by this point to care. It wasn’t _fair._

“No, you’re _still_ not listening to me! What about _you_ trusting _me?”_ he demanded. “You don’t understand because you’re not like us!”

Silence fell after that, and Peter averted his eyes.

“Us?” Tony repeated, an obvious prompt.

Peter drew in a breath, then let it out shakily. “Mr. Stark, you have all your suits and you’ve been doing this a lot longer than I have, but...you’re still human. You don’t have trouble sleeping because you can hear a dog barking on the other side of the city. You wake up and you don’t have to worry about eating enough food to feed a small family just so you don’t fall over that day. People like me, like Connor, we’re not responsible for just how we use our powers. It’s how we don’t use them. Connor’s powers hurt him, and he could stop that by using them on people, but he fights it. Maybe he doesn’t always win that fight, but...just because he _has_ Extremis doesn’t mean he’s guilty. You can’t hold him to the same standard you would someone who has a gun in their hand.”

For a moment he thought he’d made a decent argument. But then Tony dragged a hand over his face with a long-suffering look in his eyes, and Peter felt his heart sink before his mentor opened his mouth. “Extremis isn’t super-hearing or a crazy metabolism, kid. You said it yourself, if he doesn’t control his powers one hundred percent of the time, he could hurt someone. That makes him a risk to anyone around him. It makes him dangerous.”

“I can lift a _car!”_ Peter cried exasperatedly. “Do you know what I could do to a _person_ with that kind of strength?”

“Yes, and that makes you dangerous too!”

Peter recoiled as if he’d been physically struck. Tony seemed to realized what he’d said, because a second later the hostility drained from his face, though the tension remained.

“Kid, I—”

But he was already backing up, toward the edge of the roof behind him. “I’m out of here.”

Tony seemed frozen—he had a faraway look in his eyes, as if searching desperately for a way to take back the words. As Peter turned away, he half expected an arm to reach out and stop him. Even if it had, he was moving too fast.

He threw himself over the edge, firing a web line into the night, and propelled himself through the city, trying to put as much distance between himself and Tony Stark as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. Poor Tony. Poor Peter.
> 
> Connor's...difficult. I tried to keep his reactions realistic, and that doesn't mean he always makes the right decisions. I really couldn't justify him just abruptly turning himself over to Iron Man and Spider-Man like that. But we will be seeing him again (obviously). 
> 
> As always, comments keep me writing and updating!


	5. Take Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter broods over his fight with Tony and Connor's departure, then decides to investigate the Maggia. Then he finds more information than he expected on Connor's master and the Maggia's nemesis, Negative...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Take Over" by Ruelle (and Hidden Citizens).
> 
> Chapter warnings: Non-consensual drug use (I should make that a tag if it isn't already...), kidnapping, character death (non-graphic).
> 
> Note: There are references to Agent Carter in this, but it isn't required to have seen the show.

> Sunday passed by dully, cloudy and grey. When it gave way to Monday’s spotty rainstorms, and then to the bitter chill that flowed into Tuesday, Peter was starting to wonder whether the weather was pitying him by reflecting his mood.

He hadn’t gone out on patrol since Saturday night. He pulled on his mask every night, hoping and yet also _not_ hoping that there would be a message from Tony, even though he wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear. An apology? He wasn’t sure if that would make him feel better. Every night there was nothing waiting for him.

His downtrodden mood had been visible to all around him. May tried at least three times a day to talk to him, but Peter always came up with a reason to leave the room. He didn’t want to involve her in this, didn’t want to get her riled up at Tony, but a small part of him was also afraid. Afraid that like Tony, she would see him as dangerous. Last week he never would have considered the idea. Now? Now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Ned tried to prod him into opening up too, with just as much success as May. He wanted details, wanted to know what had gone wrong Saturday night, but Peter didn’t want to look his best friend in the eye and tell him that he failed. That he’d argued with Iron Man and Connor had run away.

Wednesday night, he broke his self-imposed exile, donning the suit after dinner. He only had a few hours if he wanted to keep curfew, but he couldn’t stand another night moping in his room. Maybe web-swinging would clear his head. Besides, the city still needed Spider-Man, didn’t it?

The night was oddly quiet. No gang fights in the streets, which he wouldn’t complain about, but there wasn’t even a lousy break-in or purse-snatcher to catch. So, just before 8 o’clock, Peter sat on a rooftop listlessly eating a hamburger from a McDonald’s and watching the city sprawl below him, unwilling to stop the bitter hurt worming its way inside him.

Tony’s words had struck him to his core. He expected wariness from strangers, from police, those who only saw the mask. Ever since he’d become Spider-Man, he’d trusted that anyone aware of _who_ was under the mask knew that he could only have the best of intentions. He’d taken solace in that. But Tony had jeopardized that trust in a second. Even if he hadn’t meant what he’d said, it couldn’t be undone. The admission hung between them like a toxic cloud, and Peter wasn’t sure he would be able to disperse it.

Karen had been silent the whole night. He wondered if Tony had followed through on his plans to review her recordings of the weekend. Maybe he was watching right now. Peter could almost picture him, slumped over a chair in his lab, his eyes the only things betraying all the thoughts swirling around his head. He was simultaneously unfiltered and frustratingly difficult to read.

Peter chewed the inside of his cheek, then took another bite of his burger. Should he apologize? Had he gone too far?

He wasn’t always the most confident in himself when he got upset about something. There was always a sense of doubt lingering in the back of his mind, explaining away the actions of others and invalidating what he had thought was his justification. Peter knew if he wasn’t careful, he’d talk himself into being walked over.

But, no. He hadn’t been arguing with Tony on his own behalf. All he wanted was for Tony to give Connor the same chance _he’d_ been given. That was only fair, wasn’t it?

Suddenly, Karen’s voice broke through his brooding session.

_“Peter?”_

“Yesh?” he said around hamburger, then swallowed. “Something going on, Karen?”

_“I have a question for you.”_

He shrugged, ignoring the deflation in his chest. He wanted to _do_ something before patrol ended. Some sense of accomplishment would be nice. “Uh, what’s up?”

_“Do you still believe Connor deserves a chance to be an ally?”_

Peter blinked, then set his burger down in the takeout bag beside him. “What? Why do you ask?”

_“When we first met Connor, our only information about him was that he possessed Extremis. As you yourself said, he deserved the opportunity to prove what kind of person he was.”_

“I thought you agreed with me about that?”

_“I did. Then we discovered him leading an attack on the Maggia. We learned he is an Inner Demon. He said that he planned to destroy the weapons rather than retrieve as he was supposed to. But he also admitted that idea came about because you neutralized anyone who could report on him back to the Syndicate. Had we not been present, it stands to reason he would have stuck to his mission.”_

Peter’s shoulders slumped. Was that supposed to make him feel better? “So?”

_“Despite all of this, you defended him. You feel distress over him. You are concerned for him. And I cannot understand why.”_

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Peter felt his ears grow hot with embarrassment. “What makes you think I _haven’t_ given up on him?”

_“If you had, you would not be avoiding answering the question.”_

Peter opened his mouth to reply. Then he closed it. He opened it once more, and then closed it again.

 _“I do not wish to upset you, Peter,”_ Karen said, her tone softening. _“But I can see that Connor has. And...”_ She hesitated, something Peter wasn’t used to her doing. _“I do not want you to hurt yourself by chasing after him a second time.”_

Understanding dawned within him. She wasn’t asking him to justify his compassion. She wanted him to be careful. A tingle of warmth spread through him at the realization. “I’m not chasing after him, Karen,” he replied, pulling his mask down over his chin. “I just don’t like giving up on people.”

 _“I think I understand.”_ A moment of silence passed, then Karen asked, _“What do you plan to do next?”_

Peter frowned, mulling the question over. To him, between the Maggia and the Syndicate, the latter loomed as the bigger threat. But the Maggia’s smuggling operation was a more immediate problem. “I’m going after the Maggia.”

_“What about Hammerhead? Without a plan, he will defeat you again.”_

“Hey, I held my own!”

 _“Incorrect,”_ Karen replied matter-of-factly. Several video files appeared in the HUD of Peter’s mask. _“He locked you in a storage container. I have recordings of the night if you wish to review them for tactical analysis.”_

“Karen!” Peter groaned, swiping the videos away. “That’s not helping!”

_“My apologies.”_

She sounded a little too amused to be sorry, Peter thought. But she did have a point.

“Okay, how about this? We find out where the Maggia’s base is, scope it out, gather some evidence, do a little police work for the police?” he suggested. Realistically, he could bust criminals all day long, but if there was nothing to stick them to their crimes they would get off scot-free. Iron Man had likely handed over the stolen weapons by now, but that was all circumstantial. Superheroes weren’t exactly deputized officers—probable cause didn’t do anything for Peter as far as the law was concerned.

_“Where should we begin our search?”_

“Um...” Peter frowned. “You got anything on the Maggia in your databanks?”

 _“One moment.”_ Walls of text scrolled across Peter’s HUD, as well as photocopies of old newspaper clippings. One picture in particular caught his eye, of two people he’d seen before, from magazine articles, his history textbooks, and a World War II documentary.

“Wait, hold on!”

The scrolling stopped. The photocopy was of a newspaper article titled **_MANFREDI SENTENCED TO LIFE_ **. Next to it was a picture of a woman, standing beside an equally familiar-looking man with a thin mustache. The pair had aged since their famous WWII-era photographs had been taken, but the resemblance was undeniable.

“Is that...that’s Peggy Carter and Howard Stark!”

The two founding members of SHIELD were sitting in the front pew of a courtroom, not looking at the camera. Rather, they only had eyes for a handcuffed man, evidently the person who was being tried. He was in the grip of two police officers, who seemed to be escorting him from the room. Below the photo, the caption read:

_“Margaret Carter (aged 44) and Howard Stark (aged 48) watch as Joseph Manfredi (aged 47) is remanded after being sentenced to life in prison.”_

“What’s this have to do with the Maggia?” Peter wondered aloud. “Karen, can you summarize this?”

 _“The article is dated in the summer of 1965,”_ Karen explained. _“Apparently, the Maggia’s history extends back into the early 20th Century. Manfredi was childhood friends with Howard Stark, until he founded the Maggia. They dominated New York and Los Angeles until Manfredi’s arrest, shown here. Howard Stark and Margaret Carter were instrumental prosecutors and key witnesses against him in his trial.”_

“Well, his organization definitely kept on going without him,” Peter murmured. “Mr. Stark said he recognized the name from going through his dad's stuff.”

_“Yes. Manfredi was arrested five years before Mr. Stark was born, and he died in prison in 1982. From what I know of Howard, it is highly unlikely he would have allowed Tony to meet Manfredi personally.”_

Yet another thing he would have to ask Tony about...eventually.

“Okay, so we know the Maggia started with Joseph Manfredi. Any idea what happened after him?”

 _“The article mentions Joseph left behind a son, Silvio Manfredi. The article nicknames him Silvermane,”_ Karen replied. _“Historically, organized crime in the United States peaked between the 1960s and 1990s. However, mentions of the Maggia after 1965 are far and few between. The most recent reference to them is in Joseph Manfredi’s obituary in 1982.”_

“Well, that’s totally suspicious.”

_“I agree. The Manfredi name, fortunately, is less elusive. It appears Silvermane purchased several properties and businesses over the years. Many of them are now defunct, but the buildings still exist.”_

Peter grabbed his takeout bag, and chucked it off the roof. It landed in a dumpster across the street, thirty stories below. “How many buildings are we talking?”

A pale blue, three-dimensional holographic map of New York appear across his HUD. Several of the buildings around the city blinked red. Peter squinted at them, trying to count. He gave up after he hit thirty.

“Any way we can narrow down the search?”

_“What do you suggest?”_

“Well...” He tapped his chin. “We found Hammerhead in Brooklyn. And those Syndicate and Maggia guys were shooting at each other in Manhattan. So we know the Maggia are active in those boroughs.”

Several red lights disappeared. _“There are 17 locations.”_

That was too many to search in one evening. _Come on, Spider-Man, think…_

“Hammerhead was smuggling in weapons, but so he could arm his guys. So he’s not selling, he’s hoarding, right? He needs space to keep all the gear, but he also needs to get it into the city and safely stored as quick as possible, so...he needs space close to the water, because his stuff comes in by boat. And it can’t attract attention.”

 _“Factoring in isolated riverside locations within the current list, that leaves only six options remaining,”_ Karen said. _“A shipyard, a waste treatment plant, two foundries, a fishery, and an abandoned department store.”_

Peter examined the red dots on his map. One of the foundries, Manfredi Ironworks, was the closest to his current location. If he was quick, he could probably scope out all six before his curfew. He had no actual proof any of the locations would bear fruit, but an educated guess was better than just winging it.

“Let's go.”

* * *

Manfredi Ironworks was situated on a barren spot of land in Brooklyn. The edge of the parking lot was only several yards away from the water, and the foundry itself was composed of brick and mortar, with steel-framed windows littering the outside. The windows had long since been boarded-up, however, so there was no way for him to get a look inside.

 _“There is a fire escape on the roof,”_ Karen informed him as Peter slowed to a stop outside the building. _“I detect a small number of people inside, including the presence of active machinery. It appears that the foundry is operational, despite it having been officially closed down almost twenty years ago.”_

Peter didn’t want to hope he’d been lucky enough to get his search right on the first try, but so far it was promising. “Okay. Here we go.”

Getting inside was easy. There was no one outside the building, and no alarms sounded as he scaled its walls. The fire escape Karen pointed out was simply a hatch in the roof, and he slipped through it without a problem. Once inside, he kept to the ceiling to avoid detection. Karen projected a three-dimensional map of the building inside his HUD.

_“The foreman’s office is a good place to begin a search. It is on the first floor.”_

His map showed him he was on the top floor, the third. There wasn’t much up here but a system of catwalks and hallways, not worth exploring. He could look around, but he’d be better off moving to his destination.

The foundry was eerily silent, but not two minutes later, crawling along the ceiling, did he find his first sign of life. The path ahead forked into two hallways, and there was a man clutching a semi-automatic rifle standing between them.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate equipment,” Peter whispered. He fired a web line at the man, yanking him up and forward. Before the man could even let out a startled yelp, he was silenced by a blow to the side of the head, quick and clean.

Then he crashed to the ground, his weapon clattering loudly on the metal floor. Peter winced. Fortunately, after a moment of breathless anticipation, no one seemed to be coming to investigate the noise.

There wasn’t time to hide the unconscious thug, though. Peter dragged him against the wall where, hopefully, he wouldn’t be noticed by any of his friends, and crawled down the left hallway.

There was an elevator shaft ahead. He pried open the doors, as quietly as possible, and slipped down. There were three floors total in the building, and the elevator was currently resting at the first, blocking his way in. He leapt to the other side of the shaft and squeezed through the doors above the elevator, into the second floor.

The air on this floor was hot. _Very_ hot. Ahead, on either side of the hallway, the furnaces were all lit, and liquid metal bubbled away within their crucibles. There was something else, inside the molten material, but he couldn’t make out what from this distance. More metal?

“Karen, I found your active machinery,” he said softly, as he crawled along the ceiling to get a closer look. “What is this?”

 _“Analyzing.”_ One of the crucibles became highlighted within his suit’s display, and Karen continued, _“The molten substance is iron. The metal shards inside, which are resisting the tremendous heat, are not terrestrial in nature. I believe they are Chitauri.”_

“What?” That didn’t make _any_ sense. Peter knew that Chitauri weapons and materials had been widely distributed in illegal channels after the Battle of New York, but sticking the stuff in molten iron was just _dumb._ Chitauri metal resisted all forms of tampering known to Earth—except maybe Vibranium, he conceded. If the Maggia were trying to melt it, they were doing it wrong.

 _“I cannot say why at this time,”_ Karen said.

He filed the information away for later, but had to keep moving. He could hear more guards patrolling this floor than there had been on the previous one. He scuttled along the ceiling, slipping through an open door, and found himself in a stairwell. Peter followed the stairs down, and came out into the first floor.

This floor was very wide and spacious, with lots of empty space for moving large equipment. Normally, Peter supposed this was where the foundry received shipments of raw metals to process. However, the only objects on the floor were several large wooden crates against the far wall, and he had a feeling he’d find weapons in them. Unfortunately, the handful of guys with guns patrolling the area prevented him from investigating the crates.

_“The foreman’s office is across the room.”_

She was right. Built into the opposite wall was a large rectangular-sized room. It had no windows, and a slightly ajar door. He moved quickly, zipping over the heads of the oblivious Maggia thugs, and slipped through the opening, then gently and quietly pushed it shut behind him.

There was no one inside. The room was bare, save for a large desk strewn with papers. There was an open laptop, which Peter approached. After glancing around and listening to make sure no one was walking in on him, he turned the laptop on.

In the first folder there were some documents which talked about shipment schedules and where they were being delivered for pickup.

The next document he opened was different, however. It was photocopy of a letter, dated early 1982.

_Don Silvermane,_

_With a heavy heart, I write to inform you of your father's passing. He died in his cell this morning. The warden says it was natural causes. The families are in disarray—their belief in him is what united the Maggia. I beg you to come to New York, to rein them in. If we are unable to gain control soon, the organization will fracture irreversibly. You must assert your authority as the rightful leader of the Maggia._

_I know your mother took you to Los Angeles after his trial to spare you from growing up in his shadow. But I also know that you, more than anyone, want to keep your father’s legacy alive. Please, help me ensure that happens._

_Caesar Cicero_

He opened the next document. This one seemed to be a journal entry, written by Silvermane himself.

_December 12th, 2001._

_The twentieth anniversary of my father’s death lingers on the horizon. With it comes the now-familiar sting of loss and humiliation. I never thought I would become so accustomed to that._

_When I was a boy, my father told me, “Silvio, you must always fight. Fight for what you want, and fight for what you have. If you aren’t fighting, you’re losing. That’s the way this world works.”_

_Well, I fought, but I still lost. By the time I entered New York, the families had divided and begun to war with each other. I lost many good men trying to quash the violence, and my efforts bore no fruit. I am not the man my father wanted me to be, it seems._

_My failure haunts me to this day. As my body withers and ages, I find myself reflecting upon my life, and my losses. I cannot die while the Maggia families sow discord and contempt among each other. I will not let this be my father’s legacy. If the families will not follow my will, then my only other option is to destroy them, and promote new growth in their place. But I did not have the means to do this, until the opportunity arrived on my doorstep yesterday._

_He was a haggard-looking man, with a limp and a stutter, but the intelligence that shone behind his eyes was unmistakable. He introduced himself as Aldrich Killian, and he said that he needed money. He wasn’t the first to come to Silvermane for funds. The Maggia is not what it once was, but my pockets run deep._

_He needed the money for his experiments, so he could create results to impress the government for funding of their own. I cared little about what he would do with the money. I was ready to throw him from my doorstep, until he explained what it was he was working on._

_Genetic enhancement. A way to unlock the full potential of humanity. Slowed aging, cellular regeneration, and more. The means to live beyond the reaches of death._

_He calls it Extremis. It was something I had desired for years, the ability to overpower anyone who challenged me. With this, I could take back what was mine. I could restore the Maggia to their former glory._

_I gave Killian all the funding he needed to get his project off the ground, under the condition that he develop a separate batch of Extremis for me. Something specialized, something unique. Different from all the rest._

_He warned me that such an endeavour would take years. What’s a few more when I have already endured twenty? I am patient. I can wait._

Peter closed the document. This was...a lot to take in. The _Maggia_ had Extremis before Negative, years before the Mandarin was even a thing. They worked with Aldrich Killian to help him get AIM started.

The next document he opened was a video file dated December 30th, 2012. Peter paused, listening again for the sounds of anyone approaching the office. Then he pressed play.

The video blinked to life, displaying a man sitting in a wooden chair, under a single light bulb. His hands were cuffed behind the back of the chair, and legs were tied to its legs. He had his head down, obscuring his face from view. The footage was grainy, likely from a security camera, rather than a handheld.

Somewhere offscreen, a voice whispery and dry, like cracked leather, spoke. _“I apologize for the wait, and your rough treatment. My men, they sometimes...lack restraint.”_

The man slowly raised his head, illuminating his face to the camera, and Peter had to force himself not to recoil in shock.

_It was Martin Li._

_“What do you want from me?”_ Li demanded. _“I’ve done nothing to you.”_

 _“No,”_ the voice continued. _“You haven’t. Not yet, Mr. Li.”_

There was a soft whirring sound, and a wheelchair came into view of the camera. In it sat a thin, silver-haired man with a lean face lined with wrinkles. If Peter had to guess, he was in his 70s.

 _“My name is Silvio Manfredi,”_ he said. _“My friends call me Silvermane.”_

Li said nothing, simply narrowing his eyes.

Silvermane sighed. _“There was a time where that name would have been instantly recognizable, and you would know who you were dealing with. I miss those days. Perhaps you’ve heard of my organization, the Maggia. We’ve owned New York since the early 20th Century—”_

 _“What does this have to do with me?”_ Li interrupted.

Silvermane paused, frowning. _“Don’t insult your own intelligence, Mr. Li. You know exactly why you were brought here.”_

He snapped his fingers, and a briefcase was brought out by a man from offscreen. He opened it for Silvermane, who retrieved a triangle-shaped injection device. There was a faint orange glow coming from its depths.

_“This is called Extremis. I believe you are familiar with its capabilities, possibly even more so than myself.”_

_“I don’t—”_

_“This particular Extremis was crafted for me,”_ Silvermane cut him off harshly. _“It was to be my ascension. My instrument of revenge. I’m sure you’re aware of the events that transpired in the Atlantic Ocean only five days ago. The Norco, Iron Man and Iron Patriot, the attempted assassination of President Ellis. The news has been slow to update, but allow me to give you an inside scoop—the Mandarin was none other than Aldrich Killian, founder and CEO of AIM. Killian owed me this Extremis as a favor for helping him start AIM. Then he acquired the funding of the United States Government and conveniently neglected our agreement. So after Iron Man defeated Killian, I sent my men to retrieve the project from AIM’s storage, before the authorities could claim it. But they encountered resistance, and the briefcase was lost.”_

He paused, evidently expecting a reaction from Li. When he got none, he continued.

_“We tracked it. It was picked up by a vagrant who happened to be a regular at your F.E.A.S.T. shelter. Your no-tolerance policy for drugs and other vices is reputable for being quite the effective recovery program, no? You confiscated the briefcase, assuming it to be heroin or something of the like. But it was not, and you were a slave to your own curiosity. By the time my men found you, you had enough data on it to write a doctoral thesis.”_

Li snorted. _“Those notes were already in the case. I’m a philanthropist, not a chemist. You’re imagining things.”_

_“I don’t think I am. You’re quite a fascinating individual, Mr. Li. Your parents emigrated from China before your birth, and you grew up in a rather poor neighborhood, among some of the worst living conditions possible. You studied your way into Midtown Science, then scored yourself a full ride to MIT, and graduated with the highest honors. You could have gone anywhere in the world. Doors flung themselves open for you. And yet, you settled for community service. Your F.E.A.S.T. building is the most successful shelter in this city’s history. I’ve seen the articles, there’s already talks of you opening up more. You’re a pillar of the community.”_

Li grimaced. _“I could hardly say the same about you. What’s your point?”_

Silvermane’s mouth curled into a snake-like smile. _“I know the kind of desperation that drives a man to succeed when he has nothing. Ambition has been your friend, your solace since you were young. That kind of drive does not stop, and it can never be sated. But you had a moral crisis, didn’t you? You completed your education, you looked at all the opportunities available to you...and none of them seemed enough. You are a man who came from nothing, satisfied by nothing. That shamed you. So you tried to teach yourself humility and appreciation for the value of good deeds. But when ambition is ignored, it turns into arrogance and contempt. You long for a challenge, to feel true passion. Am I wrong?”_

Li had fallen silent again. He met Silvermane’s eyes with a steely calm, but his mouth had thinned to a pale line, and he made no attempt to correct him.

 _“You are intelligent. You consume knowledge. If you encounter something you do not understand, you work to conquer it. In only a few days, you did that to Extremis, when Killian had the brightest minds available to him slaving over it for years. You want to know why you are here?”_ Silvermane held up the injection device. _“My Extremis remains incomplete. I intend to have what was promised to me. And I am offering you the challenge of a lifetime. You can always refuse, and I will be forced to waste a bullet. But if you accept, you will return to your old life, with no one the wiser, and you will spend all of your available time challenging that intellect of yours, which you have neglected for so long.”_

It appeared he had nothing more to say after that. Silence fell, and after a few moments, Li’s back straightened. He cocked his head to one side, slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching.

_“Alright. When do I start?”_

The video ended.

So now Martin Li was involved in this too? The guy who was running for mayor, who had set up one of the most successful volunteer programs ever? F.E.A.S.T. championed the education and rehabilitation of homeless kids, for crying out—

Peter froze.

_Homeless kids._

It _couldn’t_ be true. There was no way.

Ignoring the nagging suspicion forming in the back of his mind, Peter pressed onward, clicking the next file. He needed answers, proof, _something_ concrete.

The next document looked like a progress report from some kind of lab journal.

_January 7th, 2014_

_Day: 373_

_Extremis continues to develop, though its progress is not as quick as I had predicted. However, I have successfully adapted elements of its code to alter neurons and bioelectricity without detrimental effects._

_I have removed several of the original lines of code. Extremis will no longer generate heat as a side effect. This does result in the emission of a strange radiation which seems to be harmless. While unexpected, it is less detectable than a subject’s body temperature skyrocketing. In time, I may be able to eliminate the emission._

_Working on this is thrilling. It is simultaneously a technological project and a biological one. So very adaptive, and extremely volatile. I have done my part to encourage these traits, because it means that Extremis will likely develop abilities in a subject that were not intended, which could be good. But it also means that Extremis will not accept everyone exposed to it. That is a problem I have yet to overcome. I may be able to prevent an explosion, but I cannot stop Extremis from killing a person if their body does not accept it._

_It would be easier to work if Silvermane would let me duplicate Extremis into multiple strains. I am operating without a control group, so I have no baseline established. But he is afraid of Extremis being used against him._

_I am grateful for the challenge he has given me, and he has supported me wholeheartedly, despite his frustration with the time it is taking. Still, the more I work, the more I cannot help but feel that Silvermane is a captive of his own delusions. He longs for his father’s glory days, but that was decades ago. Now, in this day and age, I cannot help but feel the Maggia, they are all relics of a bygone era._

_January 11th, 2014_

_Day: 377_

_Silvermane stopped by to see me. He wanted an update. I told him the same thing I always tell him: with one strain of Extremis and no subjects to test on, progress will be slow. It is difficult to rely on computer simulations alone._

_I also told him how the success-failure ratio has not changed, and that the volatility of Extremis shows potential for massive genetic variety. Human DNA is itself nearly limitless in combinations, so it stands to reason that this modified Extremis would produce wildly different results in different people. It is a simple equation, I told him. If Extremis refuses to be less picky about the kind of people it accepts, then the only logical way to ensure it bears fruit is to increase the number of recipients. Would an army of highly unique, enhanced soldiers not be preferable than just one? But he rejected the suggestion. He still wants me to tailor Extremis for him, and him alone._

_If I am to do what he asks, then I have to create a control group. I need copies to run simulations against a sample of his DNA. I have to defy him, to help him. I hope he understands._

_I also spoke with one of the Maggia enforcers who has become something of a handler to me. We discussed ways to integrate Chiaturi technology within Maggia forces, as they have collected a fair amount from New York. I mentioned how Chitauri metal is virtually indestructible, and seems semi-organic in nature. Binding it with a metal found in organic life native to this planet (like the iron found in human blood) could have interesting results. It was an offhand idea, but now that I think about it, it could be promising after all._

_Tomorrow, I will duplicate Extremis and move into the next stage of testing. I hope the results are favorable._

The document ended after that. Heart pounding, Peter clicked on the next document. It was another video file. He pressed play.

The image that appeared across the screen was of a laboratory. Various computers hummed in one corner, and there was a series of screens hanging on the far wall which displayed X-Rays of a human skeleton. In the center of the room was a chair with dozens of metal straps along its frame.

Silvermane wheeled into the laboratory. Cold fury was written all over his face.

_“Bring him in.”_

Two Maggia men appeared from the same direction. Between them, they held a struggling Martin Li.

 _“Silvermane, stop!”_ he yelled. _“I am trying to help you!”_

 _“By betraying me?”_ Silvermane snapped, spinning his chair around to face Li. _“I warned you not to duplicate Extremis. I will not have what is mine used against me. Your repeated failures over the past year make much more sense now. You have been plotting against me, Martin. Strap him in.”_

 _“You’re wrong!”_ Li protested as the men threw him into the chair. He tried to get up immediately, but they held him down and shackled him tightly to the straps. _“Silvio, listen to me! I had to rewrite Extremis from the ground up to get as far as I have! If you kill me, you’ll never find anyone else who can complete the work I started!”_

 _“Your work is already complete,”_ Silvermane said coldly. He threaded his fingers together, his eyes feverishly boring into Li’s. _“I only regret it took me this long to see that you were planning to betray me. The families, Killian, now you...they all work against me. But I will not die as a decrepit old man stabbed in the back! I will never die!”_ One of the men reached into his pocket and pulled out two triangle-shaped injection devices, and handed it to Silvermane. Unlike the one Peter had seen in the previous video, this one gave off a stronger purple glow. _“There remains only one loose end.”_

 _“What?”_ Li paled. _“What are you doing?”_

 _“I have your data,”_ Silvermane declared. _“I have small samples saved, as well. And I have the means to produce more of this Extremis for myself. But my family has been in the narcotics business all my life. Whenever we created a new strain to distribute, we always had to figure out the max dosage before overdose. Consider this your last favor to me.”_

His eyes widened. _“What? You can’t! What if it doesn’t kill me? I thought you only wanted this power for yourself!”_

 _“You and I both know that Extremis takes time to work, Martin.”_ One of the men pulled out a gun and pressed its muzzle against Li’s temple. _“But I have a contingency, in case it doesn’t kill you quick enough, or at all.”_

 _“You’re insane!”_ Li pulled at his bonds once more.

Silvermane ignored him, and plunged the injector into his arm. _“Thank you, Martin, for all you have done for me.”_

Li screamed, a horrible, guttural sound the veins in his arm turned violet and pulsated. His thrashed in his chair, his eyes glowing white, as the purple glow traveled up his body. Silvermane pulled out the second injector, and stabbed Li with it.

Then Li’s body glowed completely white, like a miniature sun, and an explosion knocked the camera’s feed out. Only static played, but Peter was afraid to look away.

Then the image returned. The lab had been demolished by the explosion. Li’s chair was a twisted heap of metal in the corner. Silvermane was lying on the floor, his body twisted and mangled. There were dark bruises around his throat, and it looked like his neck had been broken. The two Maggia guards were nowhere to be seen, but Peter didn’t want to know what had happened to them.

The video played ten more seconds of the silent, destroyed lab and Silvermane’s corpse, before it ended, leaving Peter alone with the terrifying truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not good at keeping exposition short and sweet, so I've included a handy dandy little summary for the backstory present in this chapter:
> 
> The Maggia's former leader, Silvermane, originally helped fund AIM on the condition that Killian create a batch of Extremis for him, so he could obtain powers. Killian didn't hold up his end of the deal before the events of IM3, so Silvermane sent people to steal his Extremis, but they lost it. It made its way to Martin Li, who ended up studying it until Silvermane found him and convinced him to work for the Maggia. But Silvermane's paranoia and impatience grew to the point that he began to suspect Li was working against him, so he used Li as a test subject for the Extremis instead, because he believed Li had outrun his usefulness. Li transformed into Negative, killed Silvermane, and escaped. He would then go on to create the Inner Demons, as Connor described in the previous chapter.
> 
> And thus our villain was born.
> 
> What about Hammerhead, you ask? Don't worry, he's got his place in this story.
> 
> Also, a personal update from yours truly: school has kicked my ass for the past few weeks, and I've been unable to write the remaining chapters. But I've gotten everything taken care of and I'm ready to sit down at my Starbucks, and pump out these chapters! I've started chapter 19, and the current projection is for there to be 22 chapters. Once those chapters are written, I'm going to increase my update frequency to twice a week--or maybe even three times a week, we'll see.
> 
> As always, comments keep me writing! Kudos are alright, but a thumbs-up doesn't compare to you expressing your thoughts to me.
> 
> See you next Thursday! Or maybe even sooner, if we're lucky.


	6. Wreak Havoc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter confronts Hammerhead, and the consequence of that is more than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Wreak Havoc" by Skylar Grey.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Typical superhero-vs-supervillain violence, blood, injury, and not-so-typical brutalizing. I don't think this chapter is particularly graphic (certainly not compared to what else is out there), but if I had a mild torture warning this is where it would go. It's probably the most violent chapter you'll see for a while, even including the action scenes of later chapters. But if you think something else in here needs a warning, let me know!

Peter’s hands were trembling. After a moment, he successfully willed them to stop.

“O-okay.” He coughed, and in a stronger voice, said, “Okay.”

Martin Li was Negative.

 _Martin Li_ was _Negative._

“Karen,” he murmured. “Can you download all this into the suit's databank? I'll...I'll figure out what to do with it later.”

_“Certainly.”_

“Wipe the hard drive when you're done, too.” Nothing good could come from Hammerhead having this information, and Li's notes on Extremis.

The computer screen flickered for a moment, then went blue as she crashed the device's operating system.

 _“Files downloaded,”_ she reported. _“However, the Baby Monitor Protocol prevents me from uploading foreign data to a secure Stark Industries server until it can be verified as harmless. That screening process will likely take the rest of the night.”_

So the only copy was bound to his suit for the time being. That was fine with him. His mind was still going a mile a minute trying to process everything he’d learned. This data had everything he needed to bring down the Maggia, and Negative too. If he could just get it to—

His ultra-sensitive ears picked up a click as the doorknob turned. Lightning fast, Peter sprung up to the ceiling and flattened himself against it. The door opened half a second later, and two men walked inside.

“—can’t believe the boss wants us to just cut and run,” one of them was saying.

“He ain’t giving up,” replied the other, annoyance coloring his voice. “But we lost a lot of guys at the docks, and Iron Man’s sniffing around. We can handle the spider guy, but there’s no way we can take on an Avenger. Now hurry up and grab this shit.”

Well, that was insulting. Peter waited until they had stepped further into the room, then slipped out of the open doorway and shut the door behind him. He dropped to the floor, then squeezed the doorknob and bent it on an angle, jamming it shut.

Just when he thought he was in the clear, a voice behind him said, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

When Hammerhead spoke, Peter whirled around, ready to dodge some kind of attack. But the gangster was several yards away from him, standing with his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket tonight, just a vest and loose-fitting dress shirt. He was alone, and the crates that had been lining the far wall were gone.

“Maybe. Where are all your buddies? They nick your stuff and bail?”

“No. Thanks to you, we have been forced to relocate and adjust our plan.”

There was a muffled yell from the office behind him. Evidently the guys he trapped inside were aware of their predicament. Hammerhead lifted one eyebrow.

“The laptop was the only thing of value in that room,” he said. “You found its contents illuminating?”

Peter shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah. The guy running for mayor is a super-powered crime lord, you’re trying to kill him. It was very succinct. Good presentation. But I can only give it a solid B, because you kinda lost me at the end there. Lotta questions left unanswered.”

Hammerhead crossed his arms. “Ask, then.”

Seriously? Why wasn’t he attacking? He hadn’t pulled his punches the last time they’d met.

 _He’s stalling,_ Peter realized a second later. _Trying to buy time for his guys to escape._

He weighed the options. He could _probably_ outmaneuver Hammerhead, and go after those crates. Or he could stay and deal with threat in front of him. He already had the evidence he needed, but Hammerhead was bulletproof and stupidly strong. Computer data wasn’t going to physically put him in handcuffs. Plus, he was the Maggia's leader, from the look of things. Taking him down would cut off the head, so to speak.

He took the bait.

“So, Li turns into Negative and goes full Sith Lord. He kills Silvermane and...what? How does he get from there to where he is now?”

“He did not write down _everything_ on Extremis,” Hammerhead replied. “When he ran, he took his secrets with him. His contempt for the Maggia did not die with Silvermane, and he had plans of his own. Beyond that, I cannot tell you what thoughts motivate that madman.”

Fair enough. “You were that guy Li mentions in his notes,” Peter guessed. “Asking about Chitauri metal and stuff.”

Hammerhead’s lip curled. “I did not have faith in Extremis. Too many risks. But Silvermane would not listen to me when I tried to reason with him. I...failed him, by not trying harder.”

Peter hated how he could _sympathize_ with that notion, but he pushed the feeling aside. “All of this happened years ago. That last video was time-stamped early 2014. It’s October of 2017 now. No offense, but why would you wait three and a half years to hash this out?”

At that, Hammerhead’s expression relaxed somewhat. “The Maggia families are...stubborn. Negative was undoubtedly a threat, but I only had what remained of Silvermane’s forces. To raise an army which would defeat him, I needed the rest of the Maggia to swear loyalty to me, and that...was not easily won. It took time but eventually, one way or another, they came to serve me, and now I am taking the fight to the Syndicate.”

If Peter were the type to gamble, he’d bet everything he had that Negative used that same time to create and train the Inner Demons. It added up with the dates Connor had given him.

He frowned. There was one last wrinkle that didn’t make sense to him. “You have all this proof,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the office. “If the police had this, they could arrest Li today. Give it to them. This is more than enough to convict him.”

“Those files were collected so I could better understand my enemy,” Hammerhead replied. There was a dark edge to his voice that Peter didn’t like. “I would not see him sent safely to prison, so far from my reach. It is not enough to simply have him arrested, and death is much too swift. I will make him _suffer_ for what he has done to us, and to Silvermane. His crimes demand it.”

“Let me guess. That’s what all that SHIELD contraband was for?”

He nodded. “His greatest strength is his identity, but it is also his biggest weakness. As Martin Li, he has a reputation and an image to uphold. But I knew him before he became Negative. He will deny it, but he _cares_ about what happens to those F.E.A.S.T. shelters of his. The Chitauri metal is mine, but their weapons, those robots of Stark's, they are all dangerous and volatile. If I were to, say, use them to destroy F.E.A.S.T. property...”

Peter recoiled, horrified. “Those shelters help thousands of people! _Children!_ Whatever Negative has done, they had no part in it!”

“I don't care,” Hammerhead growled. “Fortunately for them, you got in my way. With the loss of those resources, I will need to adjust my plan. Considering he tried to _steal_ them from me, I suspect Negative will be doing the same thing. That gives him time, but eventually justice _will_ have its due.”

“This isn’t justice,” he shot back. “You’re gonna hurt a lot of people, Hammerhead, and you’re no better than Negative. There’s _no need_ for violence.”

The gangster’s jaw clenched, and his back straightened. “When we first met, I thought you were another tool of the Syndicate, but I was wrong. I see that now. I am not an enemy you want to make, child. The Maggia created Negative, and he is our responsibility. You would do well to leave me to my mission.”

Peter’s body tensed, coiled tightly like a spring. He hadn’t forgotten everything Martin Li had done, but none of it mattered right now. A person’s life was in danger, and so were the lives of anyone around him. “I can’t. I won’t. That’s _my_ responsibility.”

“So be it.”

He saw the glint of metal as Hammerhead drew the handgun from a hidden shoulder holster. He fired a web burst, clogging the gun as it went off. The weapon exploded in Hammerhead’s hand, and Peter snagged his shirt with a thread. He yanked himself forward, slamming his feet into the gangster and kicking him into the far wall. Hammerhead recovered instantly, lunging with a wild haymaker. Peter ducked under it and bounced away, out of reach.

“You could not defeat me with that freak of Negative’s on your side,” Hammerhead remarked. He plunged his fingers into floor before him, and ripped out a chunk of concrete. Then he hurled it at Peter. “And now you challenge me alone? That is a fool’s decision. Or the mark of a death wish.”

Hot fury swelled within him upon hearing the insult toward Connor. “Don’t flatter yourself!”

He nearly sidestepped the concrete, and fired a glob of webbing straight into the big man’s eyes. Hammerhead clutched at his face, and Peter closed the distance between them. He threw his fist into Hammerhead’s stomach, but it was just as impermeable as his jaw. He dodged a blind lunge from his opponent, the gears in his head spinning.

How much force could Hammerhead _take?_

Very early into his web-slinging career, before Tony Stark had showed up in his apartment to whisk him off to Germany, Peter had learned to control his strength. He’d practiced throwing punches into several empty garbage cans, and after breaking three in a row, he’d determined that his full strength could be downright lethal to a normal person. Stopping cars was one thing, but the idea of accidentally killing someone terrified him so greatly that before he’d even made his homemade costume, he spent weeks learning to control how much power he put behind his punches.

His exchange with Tony came back to him.

_I can lift a car! Do you know what I could do to a person with that kind of strength?_

_Yes, and that makes you dangerous too!_

Hammerhead wasn’t an avergae crook, though. He hadn't been fazed at all when his gun exploded.

He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled.

_Breathe...and let go._

Then he reared back, fist clenched, and just as Hammerhead ripped the webbing off his face, Peter threw the hardest uppercut he could muster.

He felt his skin split on Hammerhead’s chin, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d bruised the bones beneath, but Hammerhead flew into the air like he’d been shot out of a cannon. He kept going, smashing through the ceiling above Peter and disappearing into the floor above.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, clenching and unclenching his throbbing hand.

 _“Peter, Hammerhead is active on the second floor,”_ Karen reported. _“I advise haste.”_

“On it!” He webbed himself through the newly-made hole in the ceiling—and was immediately tackled by Hammerhead, who rammed him into an adjacent wall and pinned him against it.

“A good hit,” Hammerhead growled, fingers tightening around his throat. “Maybe you are not so pathetic.”

Peter grabbed the meaty hands holding him down, and began to pry them off. Hammerhead grunted, resisting the effort with all his might, but it was futile. His hold was loosening. There was no contest between them now—when Peter didn’t hold back, _he_ was stronger.

“Get...off...ME!”

He threw Hammerhead away, and hurled himself forward, grabbing the gangster and spinning around to pilot him through the wall. He crumpled under the debris. Taking advantage of the brief reprieve, Peter glanced around, trying to get his bearings.

He was back the room with the crucibles and lit furnaces. Several chains dangled loosely from the ceiling, and there was an extremely large vat hanging above the room, spilling molten metal over its sides. It was overflowing—with all of Hammerhead’s guys vacating, there was no one to make sure the equipment ran properly.

_“Peter, I have a hypothesis.”_

“Yeah?” he asked, turning his attention back to Hammerhead, who was stirring. He blanketed the gangster with several web nets. “Stay down! The police are coming soon.” He paused. “The police are coming, right Karen?”

_“Dropping an anonymous tip at the nearest station now.”_

“Awesome. What’s your hypothesis?”

_“Based on the records in the laptop, and the equipment in this foundry, I believe Hammerhead’s abilities are the product of fusing elements of Chitauri metal with iron. The molten iron in these crucibles absorbs a portion of the Chitauri metal’s properties, and when administered, it produces superhuman effects.”_

He blinked. “Uh...so he’s taking some really roided-up iron supplements?”

 _“That is correct. Chitauri metal is semi-organic in nature—flesh would bind to it to take on some of its properties.”_ On his HUD, a full-body scan of Hammerhead appeared. _“It was not pertinent at the time, but the night of your first encounter, Hammerhead was showing signs of high-level iron poisoning. He shows the same symptoms tonight.”_

“What? Is he going to be okay?”

_“Unclear. Either he is unaware that his abilities come with lethal side effects, or he is so fixated on Negative that he does not care.”_

Peter rubbed his temples, trying to think. “Can we take the stuff out?” How do you extract iron from a person?

_“That may not be possible. The iron has bonded to his body on a cellular level. He is not a machine, but his body displays more characteristics of metal than organic flesh.”_

“Please stop saying flesh, Karen.”

Suddenly, with a roar, Hammerhead tore apart some of the webbing binding him. Peter yelped and made to apply more, but his web-shooters only clicked at him dejectedly. The cartridges were empty.

“Shit, shit!” he yelped, leaping away as Hammerhead freed himself. He scaled the nearest wall, heading for the ceiling, and reached for a utility pouch at his waist—

Something hard and cold struck his side, and Peter yelled as he hit the ground, his ribs protesting angrily. His spider-sense flared, and he rolled to avoid another strike. Hammerhead had grabbed one of the chains from the ceiling, and was swinging it like some kind of whip.

“Hey! Copycat! Do I have to trademark my webs?” Peter protested. With no time to load his web-shooters, he was forced to dodge another lunge from the chain.

This fight had to end, and quickly—he wasn’t sure how many high-power punches he had until his knuckles broke under Hammerhead’s skull. Conventional force wasn’t going to cut it anyway, not if his skin was like metal. What _did_ harm metal? Stronger metal, usually, but Peter didn’t exactly have any Vibranium on him. As he moved to avoid another strike from Hammerhead, his eye caught the large vat of molten metal. From his heightened vantage point, he could also see a large series of windows on the wall behind Hammerhead, displaying a nighttime view of the East River, and an idea began to form in his mind.

Metals were often hardened to improve performance, usually by being heated at high temperatures, then rapidly cooled. It made the metal more resistant to wear and tear, but vulnerable to impact and force. The process was usually applied to alloys, which iron was not...but this wasn’t pure iron, was it? There was a little chitauri in there, and that made it an alloy. Maybe there was some vulnerability in all that enhanced strength Hammerhead wielded.

Peter leapt up to the ceiling, far from Hammerhead’s chain. He quickly reloaded his web-shooters and fired a web line at the bottom of the vat, holding it taut.

“Hey!” he yelled down at Hammerhead, who was inching closer, trying to get in range. “How’s this for pathetic?”

_Just a little closer..._

He swung in a dive, zipping past Hammerhead. The vat tilted with his movement, and when Peter landed on the ceiling across the room, he yanked the web line with all his might. This, and the momentum of his swing, was enough to tip the vat upside down—raining all of its contents down on Hammerhead.

Fortunately (as Peter had prayed), Hammerhead did not scream and melt into a puddle of goo. In fact, he hardly seemed bothered, wiping some of the molten metal out of his eye.

“Please work, please work!” Peter yelled as he attached a web line to the ceiling and launched himself. He swung around the room once, like an out-of-control pendulum, until his feet made contact with Hammerhead. Then he let go of his web line.

The force of the spin was enough to propel the both of them through the window, out into open air over the water. The sudden cold of the night was like an electric shock to Peter, but he didn’t have time to adjust—Hammerhead was flailing and yelling just below him.

He snagged the corner of the ironworks building with one web, and Hammerhead with the other. Peter sailed in a large arc over the East River, dragging Hammerhead through the water behind him as if he were a fisherman’s latest catch of the day. When he neared the ground, he dropped, landing on the shore and pulling Hammerhead onto dry land with him.

He could hear groaning, which meant his foe was at least alive. Peter approached the gangster as he pulled himself upright. His clothes had been mostly destroyed by the liquid metal, but he seemed unconcerned about his modesty. His body was steaming, and he looked unsteady on his feet.

“You don’t look so good, Hammy.”

“You...” Hammerhead rasped, his eyes burning with hate. “Do you think this is a victory? You have no idea what you have done.”

He frowned. “Maybe worry more about yourself. Your powers are killing you. You better hope there’s a way to fix it.”

Hammerhead spat a globule blood at on the ground. “You’re in over your head. You will _suffer_ for this.”

“Uh, you’re not the first person to threaten me,” Peter replied, shrugging. “First one to probably have a cell in the Raft, though. Still, doesn’t mean much.”

Hammerhead wheezed out a dark chuckle. “Not me. Negative. Without the Maggia, you are the only one standing in his way. You will not find him so easily beaten.”

Peter snorted, allowing himself a bit of pride. “I'm not taking advice from the guy whose butt I just kicked.”

“Then the consequences will be yours to bear.”

His spider-sense flared again, heartbeats before Hammerhead even began to move. Peter sidestepped his lunge effortlessly and threw one final punch. There was a noise like shattering glass, and he felt Hammerhead’s jaw break under his knuckles. The gangster slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Peter froze, staring at his hand. “What...”

 _“It seems his abilities have been overtaxed by the rapid temperature fluctuation,”_ Karen explained. _“You severed the bonds between the iron-chitauri alloy within him.”_

“I punched him so hard his powers broke?”

_“Correct.”_

“That’s... _awesome.”_

In the silence after the battle, Peter could hear sirens rapidly approaching. He almost wanted to stay and see Hammerhead get hauled away, but the clock in his HUD indicated he had _very_ little time to get home before curfew.

Oh god. May. Peter could already _feel_ the bruises forming on his body from this fight. They would be mostly gone by tomorrow, but she was still going to freak when she saw him. The cracked ribs would take longer, maybe a week. Gym class was going to _suck_.

He carried Hammerhead closer to the foundry, webbed him up for good measure, then disappeared into the night. When the police arrived minutes later, they found a note in webbing adhered to the side of the building.

_Gun-smuggling gangster_

_Used to be bulletproof_

_I broke his jaw_

_— Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man_

* * *

As he swung through the city, Peter reflected on the night’s recent events, and a mixture of relief and euphoria washed over him. It was _over._ An almost century-old criminal organization had been put to rest, the city was safe from a massive gang war, and he’d officially bagged his first enhanced supervillain. This wasn’t his technical victory over the Vulture—there was no malfunctioning wingsuit or exploding plane that tipped the odds in his favor.

He fought Hammerhead, de facto leader of the Maggia, a guy with impenetrable skin and super-strength, and he _won._

Not only that, but he had all the evidence he needed to get Martin Li, Negative, arrested. He could eliminate two major crime rings by the end of the week!

Peter whooped as he flipped through the air, letting himself somersault between swings. His ribs smarted, but it wasn’t enough to dampen his mood. He felt incredible, unstoppable, invincible—

His spider-sense exploded into a frenzy mid-swing, and Peter didn’t have time to pinpoint where the danger was coming from before it struck. Something— _someone_ —barreled into him with the force of a freight train. He yelled in alarm, twisting in the air and grappling with his attacker as they hurtled over several rooftops. They didn’t even flinch when he landed a hard punch to their jaw.

Air burst from his lungs as the stranger planted their feet on his chest and kicked, propelling Peter down. The rooftop did nothing to halt his descent, and Peter smashed through it painfully, hitting the floor hard enough to see stars and curling in on himself as debris from his crash scattered around him.

Dimly, he heard his attacker land nearby. Peter forced himself to scramble to his feet, braced for a fight.

He’d landed in what looked like a brownstone warehouse, long abandoned and run-down. The man who'd attacked him was big and Hammerhead-sized. It took him half a second longer to recognize his black, leather armor—it was exactly like Connor's. He even wore a similar mask to obscure the bottom half of his face, though there were no goggles hiding his blue eyes.

“Whoa, whoa!” Peter exclaimed, taking a step back as the man advanced upon him, moving like a wall of solid mass. “Big guy, can we time out real quick? What's your deal?”

Instead of listening, his attacker broke into a run and charged like a rampaging elephant. Ever nimble, Peter hurtled away from the man and fired his web-shooters at the roof. He yanked himself into the air, toward the hole in the roof and its freedom—

Someone—no, some _thing_ —seized Peter in a vice-like grip and threw him back to the ground, as if he’d just been swatted like some annoying housefly. This time he rolled with the impact, coming up on his feet, but then an invisible pressure bloomed across his entire body, completely immobilizing him. He struggled, but remained paralyzed, as still as a statue. Even his jaw had been frozen shut.

That was when he caught movement, and another figure stepped from a shadowy corner of the warehouse. She wore an identical suit to her large companion—who had begun circling Peter like a predator—and had curly black hair with rich dark skin visible beneath her mask. She walked slowly, deliberately, her body language off-kilter and just strange enough to give him a prickles of unease.

This was bad. Very bad. Peter struggled against the force holding him down, trying with all his might to take a step forward. The girl reached out a hand toward him, and he felt the pressure on his body increase as she tried to hold him down. Still he resisted, muscles burning with the effort, and she clenched her hand into a fist. The pressure intensified to a painful degree—then his breathing stopped. He gasped, eyes widening, and the sudden loss of oxygen forced his muscles to give out, relaxing limply into the psychic prison.

From the hole in the roof, a third individual dropped down, landing effortlessly from the twenty foot drop as if it were nothing. He was pale and had short, close-cropped hair. Unsurprisingly, he wore a similar outfit to the others, but there was no mask hiding his features. He looked considerably older than Peter, by at least several years, and had an unsettling, eager look to his tawny eyes.

Without taking his eyes off Peter’s face, he said, “Let him breathe, Calypso. For now.”

The pressure relaxed slightly, and he sucked in a deep breath.

“The Itsy-Bitsy Spider,” the man mocked, taking a step forward. A sharp smile carved its way across his face. “Crawled up the waterspout, didn’t you?”

“I object to that,” he wheezed, projecting as much confidence he could muster into his voice. “Don’t be racist. That’s like me calling the human wrecking ball here a hippo just because he’s big.”

“Rhino,” the big man grunted as he stopped circling and took a stance at Calypso’s side.

“Okay, see, that’s what I get for assuming,” Peter complained, then tried to subtly test the prison again with his strength. Calypso’s eyes narrowed, but otherwise his effort bore no fruit. “But seriously, who _are_ you guys? A super secret biker gang? Dubstep band? Fetish club? Please don’t be a fetish club.”

The third, unnamed man’s smile widened as he took another leisurely step forward. “You ought to be flattered, little spider. Very few people get the chance to come face to face with an Inner Demon, let alone _three_ of them.”

A spike of dread rippled through him as he tried to feign ignorance. “Who?”

“Let’s just kill him,” Rhino growled, cracking his knuckles.

“Or, let’s just let him go,” Peter stage-whispered. Then, at normal volume: “That sounds like a good idea, whoever said that!”

“Enough.” Mallen shot Rhino a warning look, then cleared his remaining distance to Peter. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a disposable cell phone, then flipped it open and dialed. He put the call on speaker, and it picked up on the first ring.

**_“Good evening, Spider-Man.”_ **

A chill ran down his spine—nothing human or good could come from a voice as deep and aberrant as that.

“Negative.” Peter tried to keep his voice steady, but his mouth was dry. This was _the_ guy. The one who had killed dozens of New York’s homeless just to turn the survivors into his personal weapons. This was the man who, until tonight, had been waging a crime war against Hammerhead.

He hadn't expected to meet so suddenly. Hammerhead couldn’t even have arrived at the police station yet. He knew eventually, one way or another, they would cross paths, but to do so in this manner, so suddenly...

 **_“You have been difficult to track down.”_ ** Negative did not pause for Peter to respond. **_“Meet Mallen, my lieutenant and first of my Inner Demons. You are familiar with another one of them already, yes? With young Animus.”_ **

The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. “What did you do to him?”

The faintest hint of amusement trickled out of Negative’s voice as he replied, **_“Nothing compared to what I will do to him next. That is why you are here. To help me.”_ **

_“Peter, I am contacting Mr. Stark,”_ Karen whispered into his ear.

Despite the mix of emotions about seeing Tony again, relief shot through him. Through the phone, Negative was oblivious to the incoming help, and continued to speak.

 **_“I do not tolerate failure from my subordinates, and especially from my Inner Demons. So when Animus returned from the shipyard empty-handed, I demanded an explanation.”_ ** He paused, letting the words sink in. **_“He told me he was forced to destroy the SHIELD contraband to prevent Hammerhead from acquiring it. Unfortunately for him, his lie was not as convincing as he had hoped, and punishment was swiftly delivered.”_ **

Peter blanched. He’d _punished_ Connor? What did that mean?

The next moment, a more alarming thought pushed its way through his head. Had Connor revealed his secret identity?

 **_“Of all my progeny, he is the softest,”_ ** Negative continued. **_“Still, he surprised me. People often tell me the truth whether they want to or not, Spider-Man, yet Animus endured much before he broke. Were the circumstances different, I might have been proud of him. Eventually he began to tell me what had really happened. How you two met in that hovel he calls a home. Your kindness that night touched him, did you know? So when you interfered in his mission, he protected you. His betrayal, his defiance, it knows no bounds.”_ ** There was a dangerous undercurrent to his voice now.

**_“He waited until I had departed, then fought back against the men I had assigned to watch him. He slipped away into the night. My Inner Demons searched the city, and discovered his trail with ease. I do not believe he expected to elude us for long.”_ **

Cold fear shot through Peter. Didn’t Connor say he was chipped? Running would be pointless.

Yet, at the same time, there was a little wistfulness stirring within him as well. Connor had...left? Just like that?

Negative continued. **_“I made a decision. Before I recaptured Animus, I wanted to know more about the person who could extract such_ ** **loyalty** **_from him. Who is Spider-Man? What is the purpose of his involvement in my affairs? So, my Inner Demons began to hunt you. Until tonight, they had no luck. I was preparing to place a bounty on your head just to force you out of hiding. How dramatic that you would reveal yourself at the last second.”_ **

“That’s me. Dramatic. You know, you’re awfully confident for a guy who can’t rein in one teenager,” he declared, trying to sound defiant. “I mean, you got me, but if you think I’m gonna tell you anything you better get used to disappointment.”

 **_“Yes, I believe you,”_ ** Negative agreed. **_“But Spider-Man, while your presence here is twofold, it is also half as significant as you think. You are here to give me insight into your relationship with Animus, yet you are not the prize. You are the bait.”_ **

Peter froze. “What?”

 **_“If Animus cared enough about you to defy me, he likely will return if you are endangered,”_ ** Negative replied pleasantly. His tone was as light as if they were discussing the weather. **_“For your own sake, pray that this is true. Mallen?”_ **

The leader of the Inner Demons turned the flip phone toward his face. “Boss?”

**_“Hurt him, but do not kill him. Calypso will broadcast his pain. When Animus comes, capture him alive. Then you may do with Spider-Man what you wish.”_ **

Mallen grinned, and Peter’s blood turned to ice. “On it.”

Negative hung up, leaving behind only a dull dial tone.

“Finally,” Rhino grumbled, advancing forward. “How many hits do you think he can take?”

“Stand down,” Mallen snapped. “Calypso and I will handle him. You need to be ready to apprehend Animus.”

“You think he’ll really show up?”

“Well, that’s up to our friend here.” Mallen turned his attention on Peter. He slapped one heavy hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You know, our success depends on you, little spider. So whatever pride you’re holding on to, whatever stamina you think you have...relinquish it now. Let him _hear_ you.”

For a split second where Peter felt Calypso’s telekinetic hold on him vanish—

Then Mallen squeezed his shoulder, and Peter screamed as an electrical current cascaded down his body. He dropped to his knees, chest heaving. Dimly, through the sound of his nerves boiling in his ears, he heard Mallen laugh.

“Oh, this _is_ going to be fun!”

Roughly, he yanked Peter up by the front of his costume.

 _“—eter, security counte—easures and anti-theft protoco—being shut down,”_ Karen reported, her voice staticky. She sounded far away. _“I am unable to—”_

He screamed again as a second burst of electricity tore its way through him. Mallen drew back his fist, and struck with such thunderous force that Peter's vision temporarily blacked out. When he came to, he was still in the Inner Demon’s grip, and someone was speaking.

“—have to be more careful, he needs to be conscious for me to send out his thoughts.”

“You really know how to kill the mood, Calypso.” Peter was released, but his legs were unprepared for the job of standing and they buckled instantly. Before he could collapse completely, Mallen planted his boot against Peter’s chest and kicked. He sailed across the warehouse, striking a wooden crate and smashing it to pieces.

 _Fight back, idiot!_ his brain shouted through the haze of pain.

He could do that, right? He _had_ to do that. Gasping for breath around his previously- and newly-cracked ribs, Peter staggered to his feet, gripping what remained of the shattered crate for support.

“Aw,” Mallen said. “Want to play some more?”

He snapped his fingers, and twin streams of fire erupted from his hands, spreading around the two of them in a large circle.

“Nowhere to run, little spider.”

With no other option, he lunged. Mallen clearly hadn’t expected him to move so quickly, because surprise flitted across his face. But Peter’s legs were still like jelly, and he was too slow. His feeble punch was countered with a jab to the face. Pain flashed across his vision as Peter felt his teeth rattle in their gums. Before Mallen could deliver another blow, he tried to fire his web-shooters. If he could just tie him up, even for a moment…

To his horror, the devices just whined and sparked, probably thanks to all the electricity that had been shot through them, and Peter knew with a sinking feeling that he was doomed.

Then he was seized by the throat and lifted off the ground. He flailed and kicked out with his feet, sputtering as his airway was closed off. Ignoring this, Mallen waved his other hand, and the flames around them died.

“Calypso,” he called. “Report?”

She must have replied, because his expression soured, but Peter couldn’t hear it. His ears felt like they had cotton in them.

“Either you don’t mean as much to him as we thought, or you’re not in enough pain. Neither of those mean anything good for you.”

Then he was let go, and crumpled to the floor.

“Let’s give him a minute. He can’t die on us just yet.”

The reprieve was so unexpected that Peter didn’t even make a move to counterattack or formulate a plan. He could only lay there in shock, trying to assess his condition. Definitely concussed. Were his ribs broken now, or just cracked? Between the pain and difficulty breathing, he wasn’t sure. He tasted blood in his mouth and could already feel bruising form around his neck. His suit was completely fried. The web shooters were non-functional, his HUD had gone dark, and Karen—fear spiked through him—was completely silent. Had the shocks deleted her? Killed her?

“Okay, time’s up.”

Someone—Mallen—grabbed his wrists and pushed them against the floor. He felt a weight settle on his stomach, and every bone in his chest screamed in protest. Blinking through pain-shed tears, Peter took in the sight of Mallen hovering over him.

“What, no sarcasm? No witty quips? I’m disappointed. All the lowlife crooks in this city say you fancy yourself a comedian.” Mallen raised one hand in front of Peter’s face, wiggling his fingers to draw attention to it. “Well, if you won’t give me a show, I’ll have to entertain myself some other way.”

Then his fingers began to glow, like red-hot pokers, and Peter recognized it from the archived video files of the original Extremis soldiers. The heat they generated could melt through metal like it was butter.

“See, Spider-Man, I was the _first_ of the Inner Demons. I’m the original. That means I get to do all the cool shit, like this.”

He pressed his fingers down. Peter closed his eyes and screamed as he felt the heated digits melt right through his suit, burning into his chest.

“If I move just an inch or two down, I could do a lot of damage to your lungs and heart,” Mallen said jovially. “Assuming it doesn’t kill you, of course. But if I, y’know, _hover_ my fingers right here, well then it’s just a lot of pain. Pain and burning. Maybe for every minute you make us wait, I’ll go a little deeper.”

 _Please,_ Peter cried out, eyes still closed. _Mr. Stark please...where are you?_

“Tony Stark isn’t here, kid. It’s just us demons.”

Had he said that out loud?

Dimly, he heard Calypso speak. “We have incoming.”

Mallen laughed, pressing his hand down—

On his back Peter had a perfect view of the hole in the warehouse’s roof, so he saw the familiar black-clad newcomer before anyone else did. There was a flash of black light, and Mallen’s weight on him vanished as he was blown away. Peter rolled to his side, staggering to his feet and trying to focus through the pain. A hand grabbed his arm, and he reflexively jerked back.

“Stop! It’s me!”

His focus sharpened at the sound of Connor’s voice. The other boy had erected a barrier of darkness between the two of them and the Inner Demons. It had granted them a brief reprieve, but it was taking a beating—through it he could see the outlines of Mallen and Rhino hammering away as they tried to breach it.

“I got you,” Connor said firmly. “Can you trust me?”

 _Can you, not do you,_ noted the part of Peter’s brain which was concussed and not focusing on the chaos around them. _He assumes I don’t already. Do I?_

“Spider-Man!” A crack appeared in the barrier.

 _Focus, idiot!_ “I trust you,” he replied thickly, shaking his head. “Plan?”

Connor’s eyes flashed black, and more energy coalesced in his palms. “Fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! It's not Thursday!
> 
> I'm not done writing all the chapters, but at chapter 19 out of (a projected) 22, I decided that even with a twice-weekly update schedule that gives me seven weeks to finish, and that should be more than doable now that school is pretty much out of the way. Plus, I've been flattered by the comments I've been recieving and wanted to show my appreciation. Don't say reviewing a fanfic doesn't give something back to you! 
> 
> As stated in the note at the top of the page, this is the most violent chapter that you'll see for a while. It also marks a point after which the story begins to shift to the comfort part of hurt/comfort, and to more of that good good gayness. So don't fret, this isn't a whump-fest. I'll treat Tony and these boys right.
> 
> Also! Speaking of Tony, he'll be the narrator for the next chapter, so that's something to look forward to.
> 
> This isn't the last we've seen of Hammerhead, because I couldn't stand to eliminate him from the story in the same chapter I get to divulge into his backstory and his powers. But, at the same time, he was never envisioned as this fic's final boss...
> 
> As always, drop me a comment and tell me what you think! See you Thursday!


	7. Glitter and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony learns of what's happened, and makes a few life-changing decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First Tony chapter! Tony was very fun to write.
> 
> No chapter warnings apply, other than a few descriptions of injury, and your standard self-deprecating Tony angst, though it isn't a focus.

When he got the alert, Tony was tinkering away his feelings in his workshop at the Avengers compound.

After his  _ disagreement _ with Peter (putting his foot in his mouth with skill that only a Stark could have), Tony had spent the next day pouring over the footage from the Baby Monitor Protocol. Even the things Karen hadn’t been around to visually record, he still had the audio of, like the conversation between Peter and Connor before he’d shown up to get them out of the harbor. 

Hearing Connor talk Peter down from his panic attack twisted his insides into a knot, as it was yet another reminder that Peter was too young to be having that kind of stress on his psyche. He should be worried about college and girls and getting his driver’s license. Not...any of this.

Connor’s story wasn’t any more pleasant, but Tony could deal with that. Callous as it might be, he wasn’t emotionally invested. Sure, he had some more context to paint a better picture, but Connor hadn’t gotten himself out of the category of enemy just yet.

There was only so much to review, though, and eventually he was forced to confront the real problem: Extremis. Friday unsuccessfully attempted to track it down on the dark web, but that wasn’t a huge surprise—from the sound of it, if the Syndicate could test on dozens of people at a time, they had to be manufacturing their own.

He’d needed a break, and eventually left Friday to her searches while he worked on the Mark L. It was progressing, although much too slow for Tony’s liking. His current suit was a hybrid of experimental proto-nanotech and his standard-use vacuum-seal plates. In a way, it reminded him of the briefcase suit he’d worn years ago in Monaco, but much more streamlined. It was all a stepping stone to the Mark L, though. 

But working on the suit had turned out to be a mistake, because his thoughts turned to the real,  _ real _ problem: Peter.

Tony would never forget the look on the kid’s face for as long as he lived. The hurt, the shock, it turned his stomach inside out, because  _ he _ had been responsible for it. He ran his mouth, and said something he didn’t mean.

There was no  _ possible _ universe where Peter Parker was dangerous. Tony knew that, and believed it. Ross, the Accords, they were bureaucrats and scraps of paper which would say his powers posed a risk, but Tony knew the kid behind the mask. He’d been so worked up about Extremis, about this Connor kid, that Tony let his anger and fear  _ for _ the kid manifest as fear  _ of _ him. He forgot himself, and was ashamed.

Despite how quickly he’d worked through his  _ own _ feelings, he debated on reaching out to Peter. Whenever he came close, he always chickened out at the last minute. He wasn’t good at talking about things, even less so at saying sorry. All it did was make him think,  _ how many more apologies am I going to have to make this kid? How many times am I going to let him down? _

The only thing he knew to do was turn all his screwed-up conflictions toward his armor, so that’s what he did. His heart wasn’t in it, not really—it was a distraction from the infinitely more daunting problem. People were confusing, and no one confused Tony Stark more than himself.

Wednesday night, he was neck-deep in half-functioning nanobots when his phone, his desktop,  _ and _ the helmet he was working on suddenly set off the exact same alarm tone. Tony recognized it as one he didn’t hear very often—and that chilled his blood.

He ignored the helmet in favor of his phone, immediately opening the screen to read the message.

ALPHA-LEVEL PRIORITY ALERT

ITEM: Unit 15A

STATUS: Critical

IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED

15A was  _ Peter’s _ suit.

Tony was sprinting for the exit before he’d even fully comprehended the message. It was part of an old line of code he’d taken from the Yinsen Protocol, a now-defunct monitoring program.

He’d created it after encountering Extremis, as a more widespread, hands-off method of protecting people important to him. It kept an eye on people important to him—Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, Helen Cho, Harley Keener, and more. Tony had convinced himself that a security program was healthier than obsessively building more armors, and that idea was what had eventually formed the basis of Ultron. After Sokovia...Tony recognized it as yet another coping mechanism, more of a spy network than anything else. Ashamed, he’d disabled and scrapped the program. Not even Pepper knew it had existed.

But that one line of code, he’d saved and installed it into Peter’s suit. The least invasive part of the protocol, it was an override which would activate only if Karen was offline and the suit was unable to defend him, or was otherwise so damaged it could no longer function. It was a last-ditch effort to get help, in the event none had yet come.

That it was going off now meant Peter was in terrible danger, the kind that kept Tony up during his sleepless nights.

“Friday!” he yelled, grabbing his compacted armor vest from the workbench as he flew up the steps, three at a time. “Find Spider-Man. Now!”

He slipped the vest on, and the armor began to unfurl itself, slipping over his body like a well-fitted glove. As Tony threw open the door to the compound, the suit’s thrusters ignited, and he was rocketing into the sky before his suit’s HUD had even flickered to life.

_ “Location found,” _ Friday’s cool, synthetic voice responded as Tony flew. A little red dot appeared along the horizon. Tony accelerated toward it.

“ETA?”

_ “Approximately ten minutes.” _

“Contact Karen. Put me through to the kid.”

He received static as a reply.  _ “There’s interference,” _ Friday explained.  _ “Possibly electrical.” _

Seriously? He’d been insulating against electricity since  _ Whiplash. _ “Give me a diagnostic. Something.”

_ “Preliminary bio-scan indicates Peter has several broken ribs, multiple contusions, and a severe concussion,” _ the A.I. replied. There was another burst of static, then:  _ “Boss, the interference has intensified and cut off my connection.” _

The red dot signifying Peter’s location vanished, and Tony’s heart froze painfully. “Friday!”

_ “I can’t maintain a live connection to the Spider-Man suit,” _ she replied, and he swore she sounded apprehensive. The red dot appeared on his HUD again. It hadn’t moved.  _ “This was the last location.” _

He could see the glow of the city in the distance, but it wasn’t close enough for his liking. “Get me there. Break the sound barrier. Break  _ physics _ if you have to.”

There was a tug in his center of gravity as his speed increased. An alert flashed across the HUD, warning him about kinetic energy, but he ignored it.

He didn’t slow down even after passing through city limits. Dodging skyscrapers left and right, Tony kept his eye on the target—an innocuous-looking warehouse. As he neared it, Friday magnified an internal scan of the building for him. 

_ “Four Extremis subjects are present. They match what little data I have on the Inner Demons. There is one additional person whose vitals match Peter’s. One of the Extremis subjects appears to be shielding him from the others. His energy signature matches that of Animus.” _

The nearest window was open. He could see Peter and Connor crouched behind a black energy barrier, while the Inner Demons were doing their best to break through it. Tony angled in a dive, aiming at the spot between Peter and the demons. “Dampeners ready?”

_ “Untested, but yes.” _

“We’re testing them now!”

Normally, the force of suddenly stopping at this speed would bend his spine as if it were an accordion, among other gruesome things. But when Tony hurtled through the window, several miniaturized cylinders extended from the back of his suit. The second he struck the ground, the cylinders lit up with a harsh blue light, and all the impact was absorbed through them instead of Tony’s body. The cylinders plunged into his armor’s back like a syringe, and the sudden surge of connected power overclocked the arc reactor in his suit’s chest, causing it to release a massive shockwave of white light which sent the Inner Demons flying. 

_ “Kinetic conversion successful,” _ Friday reported.  _ “Power levels exceeding three hundred percent.” _

One of the demons (the leader, by the looks of it) was scrambling to his feet, wild-eyed and conjuring up a vortex of fire and lightning in his hands. Firing up repulsors on both hands, Tony aimed them at the offending demon and blasted him into the building’s far wall.

“Hi,” he said. His armored shoulders retracted to reveal a cluster of missiles, aimed at the other two Inner Demons. They froze. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He glanced over his shoulder, trying to keep the demons in sight. “Kid? Spider-Man?”

The barrier disappeared. Peter looked like he’d gone ten rounds with an unstable arc reactor. His breathing was labored, and his costume was singed and torn in several places. He was leaning on Connor for support, unable to stand on his own.

Tony was not used to unrelenting fury. The call for violence singing in his blood, demanding punishment, demanding retribution, it wasn’t something he had a lot of experience with. The last time had been Siberia. But right now, looking at what the Inner Demons had done to his kid, he was sorely tempted to give in to that urge. 

“‘M okay, Mr. Stark,” Peter said quietly, sagging against Connor. “‘S all good.” His eyes slipped shut.

“Yeah, no, no he’s not,” Connor shot, sounding annoyed and panicked. “He’s been electrocuted. He needs to get out of here.”

Tony couldn’t agree more. A flicker of movement caught his eye—

He crossed his arms over his face just in time, blocking a punch from the leader of the demons.

“Iron Man,” he snarled, wiping blood from his mouth. The burn mark on his chest from Tony’s repulsors was already healing, and glowing a familiar orange color. “Should have known you’d show up. I’m Mallen.”

Mallen jabbed at his exposed midsection, hitting with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs, but Tony did not falter. He reared back and cracked his helmet against Mallen’s face. 

“I don’t care.” 

Mallen stumbled back, clutching his nose, and Tony blasted him away with another repulsor. He doubted these Inner Demons would were going to be the next Ultron or Loki, but any time wasted battling them was time Peter sorely needed.

“Friday, we got enough juice for a time out?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, the excess energy Tony’s suit had absorbed was vented into the armor’s gauntlets, and coalesced into a blue-white sphere. 

“Get them!” Mallen screamed, his nose correcting itself into proper shape with a sickening crunch.

The Inner Demons rushed forward, and Tony tossed the sphere at them. Before it made contact, it exploded in a wide arc, circling around and encapsulating them in a gigantic energy bubble. Mallen threw his fists against the bubble furiously, but it held strong against his assault. Tony was vividly reminded a similarly off-kilter psychopath with Extremis, and he looked away, turning his attention back to the two teens.

“Whoa,” Connor said. He looked impressed. “You just...beat them?”

“It’s not gonna hold.” Tony approached and moved to take Peter into his arms. Connor let him. The kid had passed out, but amazingly his pulse was still steady. “Friday, prep the penthouse.”

“Hey, I’m coming with you!” Connor protested.

A sudden surge of protectiveness rose up in Tony. This kid was one of the Inner Demons too. His own people were the ones who hurt Peter. Did he not  _ realize _ this was his fault? “Oh,  _ are _ you now?”

Connor hesitated for a fraction of a second, but he set his jaw and met the cold mask of the Iron Man armor with a fierce glare of his own. “Yes. I am.”

Peter groaned weakly in his arms, and Tony decided he didn’t have time for this. “Good luck keeping up.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he shifted to a better grip on Peter and ignited his suit’s thrusters, flying out of the warehouse and into the night.

—

The compound was a bit too far away, and he didn’t trust hospital staff to not take some of Peter’s blood for analysis, or to not out his identity. So his penthouse was the only logical destination. It was on the top floor of an unassuming apartment complex. When he purchased it, years ago, he’d ended up buying the whole building as a smokescreen. A room with his name on it aroused more intrigue than an entire building. Billionaires had those in spades. 

He landed on the roof and left his armor in sentry mode, stepping out of it to carry Peter himself. In the corner of the roof was a staircase exit, and upon swiping a keycard from his pocket, the door swung open.

Rather than a stairwell, the door led directly down into the top-floor penthouse. As Tony stepped inside, the lights flickered on, and revealed a spotless living space. It was minimalist and modern, with white walls bordered by (bulletproof) floor-to-ceiling windows. The penthouse could only be entered through the roof or a private elevator shaft, eliminating discovery by curious or hapless tenants. The stairs led straight into a modestly-sized kitchen with an L-shaped counter, and further away there was a large bed nestled in the far corner of the room (not that Tony ever used it, because sleep was an unproductive use of his time as far as he was concerned). Adjacent to the bed was a small bathroom. There were no walls between the kitchen and the “bedroom” because he’d never envisioned anyone but himself being here. Shows what he knew. To the right of the kitchen was a large testing/training area, and to the left was an armory and the main laboratory, which consumed the remaining floor space. It came equipped with a workshop and a direct link to Friday.

The penthouse had been his first “base” in New York, before Stark Tower was built and made habitable. He hadn’t used it in years, but the automated systems had kept the place from accumulating dust. Before Ultron, he’d even been in talks with Helen Cho to install a regeneration cradle to treat injuries, but after Sokovia...well, now he wished he’d gotten around to it after all.

“Friday, windows?”

At once, the windows all around the penthouse tinted themselves to black, obscuring the view outside but preventing any prying eyes from looking in.

He walked over to the bed and gently deposited Peter onto it, then pulled off his mask. His heart constricted rather painfully at the sight of bruises and blood on the kid’s face.

He would protest if he were conscious, but Tony blamed himself for this. If he had reached out to Peter earlier, not been so hesitant to talk after the last time, maybe he could have stopped this or gotten there sooner…

“Friday, what’s the protocol for electrocution?” Where was Banner when you needed him?

_ “Similar to burn care,” _ she replied, her cool voice flooding the penthouse.  _ “If the victim’s heart is not stopped—” _

“Can we not use that word?”

_ “If Peter’s heart is not stopped, and he is not currently exposed to electricity, the side effects and physical wounds should be your current focus.” _

Physical wounds. Tony had patched himself up enough times to know what to do for that. He disappeared into the workshop for a moment, then returned with a first aid kit. Pressing the spider insignia on Peter’s chest, Tony slipped the suit off him and tossed it aside. He’d look at it later...and would have to find Peter a change of clothes.

Modesty first. Tony pulled back the sheets of the bed and drew them up to Peter’s waist. His chest had been hurt the most—there were five nasty-looking, circular burn marks over his heart. There was a serious amount of bruising around his ribs, and that worried him.

“Do an X-Ray. His ribs?”

_ “Cracked, but not fractured,” _ Friday replied.  _ “The cartilage of his sternum is similarly broken, but does not appear to need realignment.” _

Tony blew out a breath. That was good. He sat on the edge of the bed and open the kit, pulling out strips of gauze and medical tape. “What were those side effects you mentioned?”

_ “Severe electrocution can result in seizures, arrhythmia, tremors, and neurological damage. An EKG and CT scan are required to better understand the extent of his injuries.” _

Tony glanced up at the ceiling, though it wasn’t actually necessary—Friday didn’t have a physical presence anywhere in the building. “EKG?”

_ “Electrocardiography. It records the electrical activity of the heart using electrodes—” _

“I know what it is.” Not that she would be aware. Tony had built Friday after he had the arc reactor removed. Slowly, he stood up and walked back into the workshop. In the corner was a cabinet, which he opened hesitantly, as if unearthing a dark secret.

In a box on the cabinet shelf was a medical-grade EKG device attached to a series of electrodes. Tony quickly grabbed the box and made his way back to Peter. He took out the device and began attaching electrodes to his arms, chest, head, and neck. He switched the device on, and as it began recording Peter’s heartbeat, he went back to bandaging the kid’s wounds.

It was Pepper who had insisted that Tony do routine checkups on his heart, after he got back from Afghanistan. She got the device for him and showed him how to use it because she knew he detested hospitals, and other people touching him.

“You have only one heart, Tony,” she’d said, thrusting the box at him. “You gotta take care of it.”

_ Yeah, right, _ he thought with a snort, glancing at Peter’s face, peaceful in unconsciousness.  _ Only one. _

When he’d bandaged everything he could find, he removed the electrodes from Peter and sent the EKG’s data to Friday from his phone. He wasn’t the best at reading an electrocardiogram, but that’s why Jarvis had come in handy...and now so did she.

“Friday,” he said, impatience creeping into his voice. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Whatcha got?”

_ “His heart appears to be functioning normally, boss. Normal for him, at any rate,” _ she replied.  _ “I took the liberty of performing a CT scan and I detect no signs of abnormal brain activity. He does, however, have a pretty significant concussion. That and the cracked ribs are his most serious injuries. Factoring in his accelerated healing, he should be fully recovered within a few days.” _

It quelled the hysteria threatening to spill out of him, but he still wasn’t able to relax. 

_ Get it together. He’s been through a lot. He just needs rest. _

Now that he was (mostly) confident Peter was safe and recovering, he knew what he had to do next. This was going to be the hardest part. He opened his phone, selected the desired contact, and dialed.

May picked up on the first ring.  _ “Tony Stark, where the hell is my nephew?” _

He glanced at the time, and cursed inwardly. It was well past the kid’s curfew. “He’s with me, Mrs. Parker.”

_ “It’s almost ten o’clock!” _

“Yeah, it’s been a...a wild night.”

May did not answer immediately, and when she did, there was a trepidation in her voice that made guilt roil inside him.  _ “Is he...alright?” _

In one brief moment of weakness, Tony contemplated lying to her. Peter was safe and sound, there was no need to worry her with the details of what had been. But he quashed the thought almost instantly. No one had a right to know more than her. She was family, and for all he cared about the kid, he wasn’t going to encroach upon that territory. “He’s got a concussion and some cracked ribs. He’s banged up, but he’s going to be fine.”

_ “Oh, God. I saw the news, and I tried calling his phone,” _ she whispered.  _ “Then his suit. When he didn’t pick up...” _

“His suit’s in worse shape than he is,” Tony said reassuringly, which was the truth. “What was on the news?”

_ “The police got an anonymous tip about the gang violence that’s been happening lately. They showed up at an old foundry and found a mob boss called Hammerhead, webbed up by Spider-Man. That was when I start calling.” _

Peter fought Hammerhead alone? And won? Despite how monumentally  _ stupid _ it was to do that, Tony felt a touch of pride for his protege. “I know the name. Peter and I had a run-in with him a few days ago. That was right around when this whole thing started.”

_ “What thing? He tells me nothing, Tony,” _ she said, almost desperately.  _ “I know him. He thinks the less he tells me, the less I know, and the better things are. But I see the bruises, and I read the papers. I know the city is safer with him out there, and neither of us can stop him from being Spider-Man. But he’s not Spider-Man to me. He’s Peter. He’s my boy. Do you understand that?” _

Tony let out a breath slowly. “Yeah, I do. I’ll tell you what I know.”

He started from the beginning, going off what he’d learned from the Baby Monitor Protocol. Peter’s first encounter with Connor, their second meeting at the docks, getting trapped by Hammerhead, and Tony flying in to save them. He didn’t get into the specifics of Connor’s past, other than the fact that he was an Inner Demon who worked for Negative, and that Mallen and the other Inner Demons had hurt Peter to get to him. When he got to the part about his and Peter’s argument, and what he’d said in the heat of the moment, May hummed to herself as if confirming something she’d suspected. She took the information well, all things considered. She listened with quiet attentiveness, and didn’t interrupt or get upset, even when Tony described what Mallen had done. When he finished, she only had one question.

_ “He’s safe now?” _

“Yep,” Tony replied, glancing back at the bed to confirm that Peter hadn’t woken up. “I have a penthouse in the city. Closer than Avengers compound and more secure than a hospital. He’s sleeping it off. Kid’s tough.”

_ “Yeah, he is,” _ she murmured, and he recognized pride similar to his own creeping into her voice.  _ “You still owe him an apology. I’m not gonna pretend any of this is okay, but...I’m glad you were there.” _

“So am I.”

_ “He won’t give up on Connor, you know. He’s not the type to burn bridges.” _

Tony sighed. “Yeah, I know. Kid’s too nice for his own good.”

_ “He’s always had good intuition. Maybe you ought to give Connor a chance, too.” _

_ As if. _ “I’ll think about it.” Tony paused. “You want me to call a car for you, so you can come up to see him?”

_ “Thank you, but no. He’d just be embarrassed. Besides, it’s late and he should sleep. I’ll stop by tomorrow before work. And I’ll call him out of school for the rest of the week. Ned will collect any homework for him.” _

“Okay.”

_ “Tony? Thank you. _ ”

“Anytime, Mrs. Parker.”

She ended the call. Tony couldn’t help but feel like he’d earned points with her for this. She was trusting him enough to be alone with her nephew, after all.

Now the only thing to do was wait for Peter to wake up, and to ignore the little voice of anxiety chattering away in his skull. It had been quiet on the phone, but now in the silence of the penthouse it was impossible loud. What if the machinery was wrong? What if he had brain damage? What if he was dying?

What if he  _ did _ die and the last thing Tony had said to him was that he was dangerous?

He needed to distract himself.

He snatched up the Spider-Man suit and headed over to the lab, plugging the suit into the computer.

“Access Karen and the Baby Monitor Protocol.”

A holographic screen flickered to life on the table in front of him. Tony waited for the picture to form—and scowled when he was only greeted with static.

_ “Karen is unresponsive,” _ Friday informed him.  _ “I can’t access any of the suit’s protocols. The software has been critically damaged.” _

“By electricity? I made this suit with the intent of working both in a thunderstorm  _ and _ alongside Thor,” Tony snapped.

_ “Boss, Extremis, and the abilities derived from it, are a techno-organic hybrid,” _ Friday explained, as if he didn’t already know that.  _ “Nothing about that electricity was normal.” _

His scowl deepened. “So you’ve got jack?”

_ “There’s a lot of corrupted software to sift through. I may be able to piece something together that can salvage Karen, but it’ll take time. I’ll do what I can. In the meantime—” _

A knock sounded from the door leading to the roof, making Tony jump.

_ “—you have a visitor.” _

Seriously? Was the sentry outside worthless? Tony sighed and waved a hand for her to proceed. A video screen materialized in front of him, giving him a live feed outside. 

Connor was standing in front of the door, looking around nervously. The sentry stood behind him, apparently indifferent or ignorant to his presence on the roof.

“Oh, come  _ on. _ ” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. Couldn’t this kid take a hint? “How long has he been there?”

_ “Ten minutes, forty-nine seconds.” _

“Friday, you’re fired. I’m putting Jocasta in my next suit.” He stood up and marched over to the door, pulling it open, ready to tell him to  _ get lost. _

But before he could even get out a word, he took in the sight before him.

Frankly, Connor looked terrible. Now that Tony wasn’t hyper-focused on Peter’s immediate safety, he saw things he hadn’t seen in the warehouse. Connor had a suspicious series of bruises poking out of the collar of his shirt, as if he’d been throttled, and there was a days-old cut on his forehead. Beyond that, he had bags under his eyes and his face was lined with exhaustion. The icing on the cake was that he wore an expression Tony recognized all too well, having seen it many times before in the mirror.

Guilt.

“Is Peter...is he…?”

Shutting the door had been a lot easier half a second ago.

Tony suddenly recalled a very vivid, very unwanted memory of a time not too long ago. When Rhodey had been blasted out of the sky in Germany, and he’d agonized over his guilt outside the hospital room, waiting to hear if his best friend would make it.

_ Damn it. _

“He’ll live,” he answered and, despite his instincts, opened the door wider. “Come in.”

Connor stared at him uncomprehendingly, mouth flapping.

“C’mon, before I change my mind.”

Connor scurried inside. Tony shut the door and locked it, then turned around to find him staring at Peter from across the room, as if afraid to get too close.

“This is my fault,” he said miserably.

All of a sudden, that same rage and protectiveness rose up in him again, and whatever sympathy Tony had for Connor vanished like a light bulb blowing. “Yeah, it is,” he said angrily. Connor’s gaze snapped back to him. “You’ve known Peter for all of what, a week? And in that time, you’ve gotten him in more dangerous situations than  _ he _ got himself in last year! You put him on Hammerhead’s hit list. You told him your life story, got him to care about you, then when he tried to help you, you threw it away like he was trash! And now, as if that weren’t enough, your buddies tried to kill him!”

“They’re not my buddies,” Connor protested, almost desperately.

Tony scoffed. “You wear their uniform, you answer to their leader, and you use their Extremis. You’re an  _ Inner Demon, _ whether you like it or not. Take it from me, kid. One good thing doesn’t make up for years of doing the bad. You have to own your redemption,  _ commit _ to it, because if you don’t, you’re  _ never _ going to be more than what you are right now.” Tony glanced at the bed, where Peter was still sleeping. “Not everyone is gonna hand you an opportunity like he did. Next time, don’t be an idiot and run from it.”

_ “I wasn’t running from him!” _

His eyes flashed, and Tony suddenly realized how exposed he was without his armor. He wouldn’t…

But rather than getting angry and lighting up like a glowstick, Connor simply slumped to a sitting position on the floor, apparently unable to stand anymore. He didn’t meet Tony’s eyes.

“I wanted to say yes,” he whispered. “But the last time someone tried to help me, tried to stop Negative, he  _ killed _ her. And he made me  _ watch. _ I...that couldn’t happen to Peter. I couldn’t endanger him. But I couldn’t take back what I’d already done, either. I sabotaged my own mission, and Negative wasn’t going to let that slide. He’d find out the truth one way or another. So I went back, I lied and told him it was all me. Except he didn’t believe that, so he punished me, and when I couldn’t take it anymore...I broke. I told Negative the truth. I didn’t tell give away Peter’s identity, but I  _ did _ say that I betrayed him for Spider-Man. I thought if he killed me, that would be the end of it. But then he told me he was going to go after Peter anyways, and I  _ couldn’t _ let that happen. So I escaped, and I ran. I left a trail to follow out of the city, because I hoped that he would be more concerned with getting me back than catching Peter. But I never even  _ considered _ that he would use Peter as bait. I screwed up. I made the wrong call.” He blinked his watery eyes, glanced up at Tony for a moment, then stared at a different spot on the floor.  _ “None _ of this was supposed to happen.”

Tony wasn’t sure what to say to that. The anger over Peter was in conflict with how much he could, reluctantly,  _ understand _ the damn kid’s situation. He thought of Maya, losing her moral compass only to make a suicidal stand against Killian. He thought of Pietro Maximoff, who turned to Ultron for vengeance but died an Avenger.

And he thought of himself, still alive after all these years, all his mistakes, and that maybe he should have been left back in that cave in Afghanistan.

He knew what to say.

God, he needed so much therapy.

“Things happen,” he said bluntly. “Things happen, they’re over, and you can’t explain them. You can’t erase them, and that sucks. You still have to deal with it. It’s not your first mistake, and it won’t be your last. But you don’t fix this by running away, even if you tell yourself it was to protect someone. Okay? Because he—” he pointed at Peter, “—thinks you’re better than that.  So you have to decide, right now, what you’re going to do. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you can stay here, and if you do, you need to  _ commit _ to redeeming yourself. One way or another, that path ends with taking down Negative. There is no other absolution. Or...” He shrugged. “You can leave. You can go back to running. But if you’re going to do that, do it before Peter wakes up. I’m not going to let you hurt him again.”

Connor was quiet for a long moment. He chewed his lip, and Tony thought he saw a spark in his eyes, something that hadn’t been there before. Like the beginnings of steel being forged.

“Negative implants all his Inner Demons with microchips,” he said quietly. “I asked your armor to jam it before I came inside. But long-term, it would probably be easier for us if we took it out.”

Tony resisted the urge to smirk. Maybe there was hope for the kid yet. “Alright. Let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we have reached the end of the first act! 
> 
> I'm rather fond of this whole chapter, but particularly the scene where Tony talks to Connor. I like characters who make mistakes, and even if Connor's intentions were to protect Peter, he still massively screwed up. And a lot of what Tony says in this chapter is going to stick with him, which you'll see as the fic progresses.
> 
> Do drop me a comment tell me what you think? I thrive off your feedback, and when I feel like I'm posting into a void I lose the will to update. Just because the chapters are already written doesn't mean I'm comfortable with getting silence as a response.


	8. Tightrope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter wakes up, and gets some well-deserved apologies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Tightrope" by the Score.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Very lightly implied physical abuse by Negative near the beginning, but other than that nothing. This begins the fluff-fest of the fic.

Peter woke sluggishly, his rise to consciousness peppered by intermittent bouts of semi-awareness. He was in a bed. It was soft and warm. His body hurt, but with a dull ache, not a pain from immediate trauma.

Twice, he heard voices. The first time he caught a pair of hushed voices, one considerably younger than the other. They sounded tense, and stiff. The second time, it was just a woman’s voice. She was talking to him, and sounded upset, but Peter wasn’t awake enough that he could respond. He felt a pair of lips touch his forehead, and then she was gone.

Both times, after the voices faded, he drifted back into the abyss of sleep.

The third instance was different. This time, he was able to crack his eyes open. Artificial light greeted him, and he squeezed them shut again. He didn’t want to deal with that.

But behind his eyelids, the light wouldn’t go away, and he was  _ definitely _ awake this time. Peter tried again, squinting his eyes open and letting them adjust to the light. He didn’t recognize the bed, or the room. It wasn’t his, the decor didn’t match that of the Avengers compound.

He sat up—and immediately his torso twinged sharply. Peter slowed his movements, clutching one side with his hand. Tight bandages wrapped around his chest, covering his ribs. He examined them uncomprehendingly. What had happened to him?

“You’re awake!”

The voice was so close he almost jumped out of his skin, an action which his body protested against vehemently. He hissed in pain, taking in his surroundings beyond the bed.

There was a kitchen directly across from him, and floor-to-ceiling windows lining the perimeter of the large room. There was a doorway on either side of him, one leading to a workshop, and one leading to what looked like a training arena.

Connor had pulled up a chair from the kitchen and was sitting at the bedside. He was watching Peter with a mixed expression of relief and apprehension. There was a decent-sized patch of medical gauze taped to the side of his neck.

Like a sprung leak, memories came flooding back. The tapes, the origin and rise of Negative. Fighting Hammerhead in the foundry. Getting attacked by the Inner Demons, tortured by Mallen, and blacking out shortly after Connor came to rescue him.

“How long have I been out?”

“Almost twenty hours. It’s Thursday night. How do you feel?” Connor asked, his brow furrowed.

“I...” Peter hesitated before answering, doing a quick self-analysis. “I’ve been better. But I think I’m okay.”

Connor nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

There was a long pause where neither of them spoke.

“Do you remember what happened?”

Peter thought. “Kinda. It’s a little...vague, but I think I do.”

Connor nodded, and Peter had the distinct impression that he was trying to choose his next words very carefully.

“I...I screwed up,” he whispered finally. “I ran away.”

Peter frowned, mulling that over. Then, understanding dawned. He was talking about their last meeting, their brief alliance against Hammerhead at the docks, and the help Peter had offered which had been spurned.

“I ran away,” Connor repeated shamefully. “I thought I was protecting you. You’re so much  _ better _ than me, and I couldn’t risk you falling into Negative’s sights by trying to help me. I thought if I took the blame for everything, you’d be in the clear. But I’m not a good enough liar, and they made me tell the truth. So I ran again, this time from them, to lead them away from you. But when they didn’t chase me, I knew I’d screwed up. I doubled back, to check on you, at least from a distance. That’s when I saw those visions of you, and Mallen. You were paying for my mistakes. You still are.”

Peter wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The guilt and self-loathing was etched into Connor’s every expression, and he didn’t like it.

Connor must have seen something on his face, because he quickly said, “Don’t try to tell me it’s okay, because it’s not. I ran from my life not thinking about the consequences. It doesn’t matter what my  _ intent _ was. All I did was abandon you and leave you to face Negative’s wrath on your own. I see that now. I’m  _ so _ sorry, Peter.”

He trailed off, looking down at the floor as if awaiting judgment. Maybe he was.

When they’d first met, Peter had wanted to believe that Connor could leave the Syndicate, maybe even help defeat it. Then doubt had been cast on all of that. But hearing Connor voice it, with palpable remorse…

He knew from experience that that kind of regret couldn’t be faked. And Peter wasn’t the type of person to hold grudges.

“It’s okay.”

Hesitantly, Connor looked up at him, a little incredulous.

“I forgive you,” Peter said, his lips twitching wryly. “None of us are perfect. And it means a lot that you came back for me.”

“I want you to know I’m going to help you stop Negative,” Connor swore, slowly taking his hand in his. “I’m not going to be an Inner Demon anymore. I promise.”

Peter’s grip was unusually hot on Connor’s fingers. “I believe you.”

“Yeah, so do I,” a third voice said, and both of them jumped. Connor retracted his hand as if burned.

Tony had emerged from the workshop and was standing in its doorway, a cup of coffee in one hand. He eyed them both with an expression Peter couldn’t place.

“Crazy, right? But hey, not the first time I’ve seen a leopard change its spots. He also handled that little bit of homemade surgery like a champ, so I think that’s helped convince me.”

Connor touched the bandage on his neck. When Peter glanced between the two of them, out of the loop, Connor said, “I told you I have a tracking chip. Mr. Stark took it out.”

“Yep. You’re officially off the grid.” Tony fished inside his pocket and pulled out a little vial with a black and silver square inside it. “Not exactly the best make I’ve seen, but still nasty. Here. Souvenir.” He tossed the vial to Connor, then turned his attention to Peter, eyes softening. “Hey, kid.”

Peter swallowed. “Mr. Stark.”

“Goggles, I’m gonna piggyback off your apology,” Tony said, approaching the bed. His expression was calm, but his hands were fidgeting with each other restlessly. “I’m sorry, Pete, about what I said. That wasn’t...wasn’t right. Morally or factually. I know what kind of person you are. You’re not dangerous.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can’t promise it’ll be the last apology I’ll ever make to you, but...if anyone is capable of giving someone a second chance, it should be me.”

Emotion flooded Peter, threatening to unbalance him as a great weight was lifted from his shoulders. Another moment passed, and he realized the feeling was  _ relief. _ He’d been so caught up in his frustration and Tony’s hurtful words that he hadn’t stopped to realize how much he  _ needed _ Tony, in the same way he suspected Tony needed him. 

“It’s okay, Mr. Stark,” he replied softly. “I’m...I’m sorry too. I got us mixed up in this.”

Tony held up a hand, gently stopping him. “Let’s not turn this into a cycle of sorrys. You did real good, kid. Hammerhead’s arrest made the news. Friday’s been tracking the rest of the Maggia, and anyone who hasn’t been arrested yet is on the run. They’re done.”

“You beat Hammerhead?” Connor was staring at him, mouth slightly open.

Peter jabbed at him playfully. “What, don’t you believe in me?”

“More than you know,” he replied seriously, swatting back. His eyes had widened, and he was staring at Peter with a new kind of awe. “But that’s...wow.”

Peter felt his face grow hot.

“Anyways,” Tony said, drawing both boys’ attention again. “Hammerhead’s taken care of, but Negative’s the bigger threat. His Inner Demons are no lightweights.”

“You trapped three of them easily enough,” Connor pointed out. Peter guessed he had been unconscious for that.

“Yeah, and I was only able to do that with untested tech giving me a lot of extra juice. Can’t rely on that. I don’t suppose they’re hiding any weaknesses you know about?”

Connor frowned. “Not really...some of us are better at fighting close quarters, others with energy attacks. But Negative expects the best from us, so he doesn’t accept a weakness. He tries to train it out of us, and for riskier missions he’ll put us in pairs that compliment each other.”

“Makes me wish I had the Iron Legion,” Tony muttered. “Should we expect them to come knocking today? Tomorrow?”

At the mention of his armor, Peter began looking around the penthouse, inspecting all corners for a familiar red-and-blue ensemble.

“I don’t think so,” Connor was saying with a shake of his head. “Negative made a move for Peter, and he lost. I don’t think he planned on you. He’s not going to try again until he’s absolutely certain he’ll win. So that gives us some time—”

“Hey, Mr. Stark, where’s my suit?”

Connor stopped talking, and Tony paused for a fraction of a second, so quickly Peter almost missed it. “It saw some action, so I’m having Friday repair it.”

“Is Karen okay?”

Tony exchanged a look with Connor, and Peter’s stomach wobbled a little, as if teetering on a cliff’s edge.

“Her code got fried by Mallen,” Tony replied slowly. “She’s pretty badly damaged. Friday’s doing her best to fix her, and the suit, but I can’t promise she’ll succeed. I’m sorry. I...know you liked her.”

By now, Peter was used to the physical toll that tragic news took on the body. It was like a swooping sensation in his gut, pooling ice through his core all the way to his extremities. He merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Karen had been with him through  _ everything, _ since Ned unlocked her functions in the suit a year ago. He’d never really considered the possibility, but her core software  _ was _ housed within the Spider-Man suit. She didn’t have the broad range and backup systems that Friday had. If the suit couldn’t be fixed, she would  _ die. _

But she wouldn’t want him to worry over her. She would tell him that he was strong enough to go on without her, so he had to try, and hope for the best.

“There...there’s data in the suit,” he said. “Before I fought Hammerhead, I did some sneaking around. I got a lot more than I thought I would. I downloaded files that have everything we need to put Negative in jail.”

Tony’s expression darkened slightly. “There wasn't a hard copy, was there?”

Peter swallowed. “No. Why?”

“Karen wasn't the only part of the suit that got fried. The Baby Monitor Protocol is toast, and so are any files on it.  _ Maybe _ Friday can recover them, like Karen, but...” He trailed off uncertainly.

Peter put his head in his hands. What was he going to do now?

“Do you remember anything that you saw?” Connor piped up, hesitant. “What was on the drive that would have put Negative in jail?”

“Everything,” Peter groaned. “It went back decades! I saw who he really is, and how he  _ became _ Negative.”

Tony set down his coffee, then grabbed a chair and pulled it over to the bed. He sat on it backwards, hands folded against the chair’s back. “Start at the beginning.”

So he did. It was tough to organize his thoughts, and remember all the blanks that Hammerhead had filled in, but Peter summarized all that he had learned—Silvermane funding Aldrich Killian in exchange for Extremis, and how his defeat by Tony put Martin Li in the path of Silvermane’s men. He told them how Li came under Silvermane’s employ, which led to Silvermane’s death and Negative rising to power. He told them how Hammerhead gained his abilities and used them to rally the Maggia to him, to go to war against the Syndicate.

When he finished, neither Tony nor Connor spoke for several moments. Then, Connor was the first to open his mouth.

“Okay,” he said, his face slightly ashen. “So Martin Li—the guy who runs the city’s most successful community outreach program and is probably going to be the next mayor of New York—is Negative?  _ That’s _ who I’ve been working for?”

“I endorsed him,” Tony whispered. All eyes turned to him. “Not...not publicly. I don’t like politics. But his programs help a  _ lot _ of people, so I quietly donated to his campaign. I thought he’d do some real good.”

“You didn’t know,” Connor said gently, beating Peter to the punch.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony retorted dismissively, though there was no real hostility in his voice. Peter knew him well enough by now to know when his mentor was silently berating himself. “Christ, this makes things complicated. We can’t go after him publicly.”

Peter frowned. “What? Why not?”

“Kid, I’m Tony Stark. I can’t make accusations like this about a public official without the proof to back it up. A few years ago, I would already be marching to his front door, but now with the Accords, Ross would have me clapped in irons and thrown in the Raft as soon as possible...” He trailed off helplessly.

“He’s just going to keep hurting people! A lot of people!” Peter protested. “He needs to be stopped!”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “We only get one chance to hit him with this. The election is weeks away—going after him with only your word and no hard evidence would just cause a scandal that will be swept aside when people realize it’s baseless.  _ I _ believe you, but you need to convince the city. If we suit up and go after him, it violates the Accords. His identity is the only advantage we have against him, and if we accuse him without proof, then we’ve wasted it.” He looked up, and met Peter’s eyes. “We’re going to stop him. But we have to be  _ smart _ about it. And that means taking it slow.”

Peter clenched his teeth. Tony was right, he knew that, but not taking action didn’t sit well with him. He  _ saw _ Li turn into Negative. He  _ knew _ the whole truth, in all its damning entirety. Having to prove it all over again stung deeply.

“Okay. So what do we do?”

“We? Nothing.” Tony stood up, abruptly. “I have to make some calls. Gotta check in with Pepper, talk to her about this, and see if she has some insight. Then I’m gonna see what I can dig up on Li back at the compound.  _ You _ need to focus on recovering. Your ribs are cracked and you have the worst concussion I've ever seen. That means lots of rest, and limit your use of electronics. Let your body heal. If you need anything, Friday will call me.”

Peter must have made face, because Tony turned to Connor. “Goggles, step one on your Stark-certified path to greatness is making sure Underoos here does exactly that. No Spider-Man, yes healing. His suit is currently shredded, but that hasn’t stopped him before. Keep him safe. Protect him, and just...keep him out of trouble until I give you the okay.”

“Uh.” Connor blinked, then nervously glanced at Peter. “Okay.”

“May called you out of school for today and tomorrow, and she said you’ve got her permission to stay here until Sunday if you want,” Tony continued, addressing Peter again. “She stopped by earlier while you were out.”

That explained the woman’s voice he dimly recalled. He nodded.

“Happy did some shopping while you were out, so you two have food,” he said as he headed for the door. “I’ll be back.”

In the deafening silence that fell after he left, Peter snuck a glance at Connor. He looked  _ immeasurably _ tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he spotted faint signs of cuts and scrapes on what little skin was visible. Beneath the gauze, he could see dark bruises lining his neck. From what he remembered, the Inner Demons hadn’t done that to him.

“Are you okay?”

“Hm?” Connor followed his gaze and glanced down at himself. “Oh. I’m...I’m okay.” He did not sound convincing.

“Negative said he punished you.” The words slipped out before Peter could stop them.

Connor nodded, grimacing. “I’m alive. I got lucky.” His hands were trembling very slightly.

_ Crap. _ Bringing that up had been a mistake, and now Peter wasn’t quite sure what to do. It occurred to him that this was the first time he and Connor had been alone together since the night they first met Hammerhead, and it was the first time  _ ever _ that they weren’t in costume or in imminent danger. Those days felt like lifetimes ago. They were in dire need of an icebreaker. They needed something that didn’t have to do with Spider-Man, or Animus, or Negative.

What would Ned do?

The answer to that was probably offer a home-cooked meal and an old film. Peter didn’t have the food, but maybe…

“Hey, Friday? Do you have any movies, or something, in your database?”

_ “I have a collection of the boss’ personal favorites archived, as well as a stable Internet connection and multiple streaming service subscriptions.” _

“That’ll work.” To Connor, he asked, “Ever seen Star Wars?”

He blinked, as if not hearing correctly. “Um. No?”

Peter slid over in the bed, opening up available space. The bed was massive, easily enough to hold two people. “Come on up. Do you like sci-fi?”

Connor stared at the mattress like it might come to life and eat him. Then, tentatively, he got on the bed, sitting absolutely rigid as a board.

_ Keep going. He’s not going to relax if you pester him. _ “Friday, can you play  _ A New Hope _ ?”

_ “Peter, you have a concussion. As Mr. Stark said, you should not be looking at television or phone screens.” _

Peter pouted. “Come on, Friday. A little movie isn't going to hurt. I heal fast enough.”

There was a decidedly long pause, as Friday apparently deliberated.

_ “No more than two films tonight. And you will take breaks before watching any more while you stay here.” _

A wide, holographic screen flickered to life in front of them. The lights dimmed, like a home theater, and the opening production logos began to roll across the screen.

“Yes! There’s seven of these movies, plus a spin-off,” Peter explained. “The eighth is coming out in December. I’m gonna start you on the first one that was released. It’s fourth in the storyline, but Episodes I, II, and III are...they’re not  _ bad, _ per se, but you gotta start with the classics first.”

Connor nodded, still looking mystified.

“If you don’t like it, though, we can always put something else on. I’m sure Friday’s got tons of choices.”

The familiar horn of the movie’s opening crawl sounded, and as Peter settled into his own spot on the bed, he thought he saw Connor relax slightly.

* * *

By the end there was a small, pleased smile on his face, and much of the tension had left his body. He had been fully seduced by the mattress and was in a slouched, half-sitting position against the pillows.

“That was...good,” he said slowly as the end credits began. “I liked the princess.”

“Leia’s pretty cool,” Peter agreed. “This movie changed a  _ lot _ when it came out. It completely revolutionized how they did special effects in big blockbusters. Like, it looks dated now, but all the stuff that’s in theaters nowadays, we owe a lot of it to Star Wars. My uncle—” He stumbled over his tongue for a split second. “—saw it when it came out in 1977 on opening night. He took me to see every film in the theater. Said they had to be experienced on the big screen first.”

“He sounds like a cool guy,” Connor said softly.

“Yeah.” Wistfulness dripped into his voice, and he found himself looking away. He didn't really like talking about Ben, and this was already more than what he'd wanted to share. “He was.”

Connor didn’t reply for several seconds, and Peter only turned to face him when he poked his arm.

“I’m new to all of them,” he said, his eyes soft. “And this is probably the closest I’ve ever been to a movie theater. If your uncle thought they need to be seen that way, and he’s the expert he sounded like, this would be the best way to show me. If...if you want.”

Peter stared at him, struck dumb for a moment, warmth pooling in his chest. Then, he nodded. “Okay, but if we’re gonna marathon the whole weekend, we need something to eat.”

To Peter’s surprise, Connor knew his way around a kitchen better than he did. In a severe underestimation of Peter’s appetite, he made two boxes of macaroni and cheese. After Peter hungrily consumed the entire pot—and subsequently apologized, much to Connor’s amusement—he poked around the kitchen a second time. Having learned his lesson, he emerged with a large platter of sandwiches, which the two of them ate happily while watching  _ The Empire Strikes Back. _

Connor didn’t make it past this installment. He began to yawn almost as soon as the battle on Hoth began, and by the time Han was frozen in carbonite, his yawns had subsided into tiny groans of contentment as he sunk deeper and deeper into the bed. When the end credits began, Peter glanced over and found that he’d had turned on his side, facing him.

As Friday turned off the screen, he noticed that Connor was rather catlike. He curled in on himself, nestling into the blankets, face void of all tension. It was very...peaceful to watch. Endearing, even.

Not wanting to wake him, Peter carefully laid down on his side of the bed, already preparing to drift off. He was pretty sure Tony had forgotten that there wasn’t a second bed in the penthouse, but it hardly mattered. He and Ned would bunk together whenever Peter stayed over his house. Besides, his body still hurt. In just a few hours the pain had already dulled to the familiar ache of mending injuries, but he wasn’t about to go looking for an alternative.

And yet, Peter seemed hyper-aware of Connor’s presence on the other side of the bed. It lingered, like a thought just out of reach, until even his subconscious could no longer resist the inviting pull of sleep.

* * *

The next two days passed with surprising speed. Peter wasn’t keen on spending four days holed up in the penthouse, despite its many luxuries, but his body had different ideas. His ribs didn't stop hurting until Saturday, and he was ready to book it back to Queens, but Friday insisted that she observe him until his headache subsided, per Tony’s instructions. Despite promising her he would  _ not _ go out on patrol or spend all his time plugged into something, she did not back down.

So he resigned himself to resting. To Friday's consternation, he Skyped May and Ned daily, and exchanged a handful of texts of feigned indifference with MJ. He even texted Tony about the progress Friday was making on his suit. Karen’s prognosis hadn’t changed, but Tony reminded him that no news was good news with this kind of thing. When Peter tried to ask about Li, Tony advised him to focus on recovering and having fun. He wasn’t really in a position to argue that.

Connor always made himself scarce whenever he was texting or calling, usually before Peter would even notice he was gone. When he  _ wasn’t _ hiding, however, they spent a lot of time together, as they  _ were _ the only two in the penthouse. Peter ended up showing him  _ all _ the Star Wars movies, even the prequels. He decided that his favorite was  _ Rogue One, _ closely followed by second-place tie of  _ Return of the Jedi  _ and _ The Force Awakens. _

After the first night, Connor came out of his shell quickly, and Peter learned more and more about him. His favorite color was red, and if he had to pick an instrument, he liked violin the most. He made an offhand comment and, after much pleading, Peter learned that he was an absolutely  _ terrible _ singer. He was incredibly bad at locations and reading maps (Peter tried to explain to him where  _ Delmar’s _ was and couldn't), instead navigating the city with his own personal list of landmarks. He greatly preferred dogs over any other animal, recounting how he’d seen many stray companions during his time among the homeless and admired their loyalty.

There were other things Peter noticed about him on his own. He played with his hands a lot, but did not gesture very much while speaking. He liked the sunset view from the penthouse, and grew more restless at night. He liked the fleece pajamas he’d discovered in the closet, and when he thought Peter wasn’t looking he would pad around the early hours in a bathrobe, spinning it like a cape. On certain syllables, his voice slipped into an undefinable accent. It wasn’t native to New York, but it wasn’t severe enough to be a full-on southern drawl, so Peter guessed it was a remnant from his childhood in Florida. He had a very soft, contained chuckle, but in the rare moments (it had only happened twice so far) where he forgot himself, his laughter rang like choir bells, echoing deep into the recesses of Peter’s mind.

Despite the welcome distraction of his new friend, Peter was determined to make Saturday his third and final night in the penthouse. He missed the familiarity of his and May’s apartment.

“My head already feels better than it did this morning, which means Happy  _ will _ drive me home tomorrow morning,” he declared, a smile on his face as he grabbed his pajamas and headed for the bathroom. “Friday isn’t going to keep me here another day.”

Neither of them had brought up the single bed. Privately, Peter didn’t mind the company, and he didn’t want to bother Tony about a juvenile issue. He and Connor were mature. They changed in separate rooms and that was that.

As he made to close the bathroom door behind him, Peter caught sight of Connor’s face. He wasn’t looking his way, instead keeping his eyes down. The corners of his mouth had pulled down a little.

_ Why is he sad? _ Peter wondered as the door shut.  _ It’s not like we’ll never see each other… _

The realization came to him a second later, and Peter nearly smacked his own forehead. But instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed May’s number.

She picked up on the first ring.  _ “Peter? What’s wrong?” _

“Nothing, nothing!” he assured, pinning the phone between his chin and shoulder as he changed. “I was just thinking...you know Connor?”

May hummed in acknowledgement.

“Well, I was thinking just now, and he doesn’t exactly have a place to stay. And this penthouse, it’s great, but it’s a little...stifling. I don’t think Mr. Stark would kick him out or anything, but I’m coming home tomorrow, so he’s gonna be all alone here. And  _ then _ I was thinking, we’ve got that bottom bunk in my room and a couch, so...could he stay with us?”

May took just long enough to answer that Peter thought she was going to say no. “Of course! He’s your friend, and I’m a little curious to meet him myself.”

“Wait, really?” He winced at the obvious surprise in his voice.

“Yes, really,” May replied wryly, not missing a beat. “You’re obviously fond of him.” There was something in her tone Peter couldn’t identify. “And it’s like you said, he doesn’t have a home.”

“You’re the best, May.”

“I know. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he replied honestly. “I was ready to leave yesterday.”

“ _ Ready _ to leave and  _ able  _ to leave are two different things,” she said, and Peter could already picture her rolling her eyes. “Ned’s been dropping off your homework. He stops by every day. That girl, MJ? She came by yesterday.” There was a pause. “Does she know about Spider-Man?”

“No,” Peter said, nerves spiking. “Why? Did something happen?”

“No, no. I’m just never sure which of your friends you told before your own aunt.” The words could have been biting, but there only warmth and affectionate teasing in May’s voice.

“Hey! I never told anyone, for the record,” Peter protested. “You all just happened to come in to my room without knocking!”

“You left the door open. How was I supposed to knock?” May replied, amused. “Well, I’ll go set up the bottom bunk. You have a good night.”

“Okay, May. Thanks again. I larb you.”

“I larb you too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight!” He disconnected and quickly made for the door, flinging it open to share the good news. “Hey, Connor! Guess what—”

_ Oh. _

“Uh, what?” the other boy replied, eyes widening in alarm. He dropped the shirt he’d been taking off, giving Peter an unobstructed view. He wasn't built like Thor or Captain America, but the definition of his muscle was unsurprising, considering the extremely specific skill set that Negative had required of him. This was not important to Peter, had never  _ been _ important to him, and never even crossed his mind.

Until now, staring at Connor’s toned, half-naked body, when it was suddenly  _ very _ relevant.

“Um...uh,” he stuttered, blushing and locking his eyes onto Connor’s face as his brain misfired. “I—I asked my aunt if you could stay with us, since I’m going home and the penthouse is just...kinda here and...yeah. If you want.”

Connor blinked once, a small smile threatening to form. “You didn’t have to do that, Peter.”

“I wanted to,” was Peter’s faint reply.

At that, he beamed. “Okay, then. Yeah. I’ll come. And I’ll help out around the house too, and—”

“Okay, cool,” Peter said hurriedly, retreating back into the bathroom. “I’m gonna brush my teeth!”

He slammed the door with more force than intended, then stared at it, shellshocked.

He’d been to the beach before. He wasn’t a prude. What he’d seen was harmless, and nothing unusual. That wasn’t what was freaking him out.

What was freaking him out was how much he  _ liked _ seeing it.

He was  _ so  _ not prepared to deal with the implications of what that meant. He had a lot on his plate already, and...and…

“Oh no,” he whispered to himself. “I’m so fucked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, gay thoughts.
> 
> No, Karen's not dead. I couldn't do that to her, especially so unceremoniously.
> 
> The upcoming chapter is another favorite of mine. It was extremely fun to write even though I completely rewrote it like...three times.
> 
> Now, a moment of confession:  
> I'm glad people seem to be enjoying the fic, judging by the hit count jumping by about 200, but when I changed the update schedule to post more chapters (despite NOT being finished with the fic, and therefore putting more pressure on myself), I rather hoped for an increase in feedback, not a decrease. It's rather disheartening to go days without hearing anything, be it positive or negative. Just food for thought.
> 
> Anyways. Next chapter will be posted on Thursday, so I'll see you all then.


	9. Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has something he wants to tell Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Boys" by Charli XCX.
> 
> Chapter warnings: mild internalized biphobia, general coming out panic.
> 
> I'm uploading this from my phone, so I hope there are no formatting issues! I'm rushed for time because I'm heading into class now, but when I get out I will open up my laptop and double-check the chapter to be sure.

_ how do I know if I’m straight _

_ how do I know if I’m gay _

_ how to tell if you like a guy _

_ human sexuality _

_ kinsey scale _

_ am I gay _

_ am I gay quiz _

_ am I gay quiz buzzfeed _

As Peter stared at his Google search history, he decided that he hated the internet.

He also hated himself a little for taking that Buzzfeed quiz. Why did it matter which U.S. President he identified with? What did that have to do with his current predicament?

He hadn’t been able to sleep that night, lying next to Connor. He stared at the ceiling all the way until the sun rose, and Happy came to pick them up.

Despite the absolute  _ trainwreck _ that was his mental state the next morning, Peter was very glad to be home. May swept him into a big hug instantly, and it hadn’t even hurt. Connor had introduced himself politely, adopting the stoic, reserved expression Peter had seen him use before, but May was having none of that. She wasn’t the most showy when it came to affection, but Peter knew that by enveloping him in a hug as well, she was trying to make him feel welcome.

Almost as soon as they arrived, many things began to happen. Once back at school, he dodged his classmates’ questions about his mysterious absence and filled in Ned as much as he could. Peter had a small mountain of schoolwork to complete—even two missed days accumulated a  _ lot. _ He had to study material for the decathlon, since he’d missed their Friday practice. Tony checked in via text twice a day, which was unusual but not unwelcome. Friday had found enough pieces of Karen’s core programming that the chance of recovering her wasn’t so bleak. The Syndicate and the Inner Demons had completely disappeared, though Martin Li was still campaigning nonstop. Whatever his plan was, he wasn’t sending the Inner Demons out to scour the city.

Spider-Man’s problems had taken the backseat for the time being, but Peter Parker’s were not so kind.

Connor had been true to his word about helping out in exchange for staying with the Parkers. He cleaned the house every single day, top to bottom, until May pointed out that in order for a deep-clean to not be a waste of time he needed to give things a chance to  _ get _ dirty, and that he didn’t need to earn his keep as if he were some sort of servant. Then, after finding out that Peter was letting Connor borrow his clothes, she dragged him to the nearest thrift store and let him pick out several outfits of his own. Peter went with them mostly for moral support, but also the fact that watching Connor get flustered over May’s generosity was amusing.

In the end, he was set up with clothes, food, and shelter, with May drawing a very clear line that these were not privileges for her to rescind, but necessities that came without strings attached. Though she did appreciate the thorough cleaning he had done.

Fortunately, Connor was so overcome by her generosity that he was completely oblivious to Peter’s inner turmoil over what had happened in the penthouse. All in all, Peter thought he was holding things together pretty well. His schoolwork kept him so busy that he hadn’t really had the  _ time _ to think about...that. And he wasn’t so manic that he couldn’t hold a conversation with Connor, or be friends with him.

He told himself that it had been a fluke, that he was being stupid. That it was a combination of being stir-crazy in the penthouse and stupid, annoying, inconvenient teenage hormones. Besides, he could appreciate attractiveness when he saw it without it having massive life-altering ramifications. That was normal and, dare he say it,  _ healthy. _

Then Connor had walked by in a muscle tank while doing laundry, and Peter knew his eyes lingered on the other boy’s arms for far too long.

It wasn’t just the physical things, either. Twice more, he’d heard Connor let out that genuine, joyful laugh he was so fond of. Both times, Peter felt a euphoric rush of affection, unselfish pleasure at Connor’s joy, and it was hard for him to deny that was platonic.

It was like he’d been told that an unsolvable math problem had a very simple solution. Going as far back as their first meeting, Peter reviewed all his interactions with Connor and came to the conclusion that he was  _ exceptionally _ ignorant of his own emotions. 

Part of him—the same part from which a lot of his self-doubt stemmed—was convinced he was just having a massive overreaction. He was blowing all of this way out of proportion. Even if he did... _ like _ Connor, why was he getting this worked up over it?

The answer to that, he told himself one night, was that his feelings toward Connor and his identity did not mean the same thing. His perception of himself had been completely upended. So, he decided, he needed to figure himself out before he could even begin to approach the Connor Conundrum.

That was how he found himself sitting on the bottom bunk of his bedroom, one week since coming home, staring at his laptop. May and Connor had gone out grocery shopping. He’d excused himself due to excessive schoolwork, and the minute they were gone, he set to searching for an answer.

Unfortunately, his approach was flawed from the start, due mainly to the fact that the internet was a steaming cesspool of memes and dumb quizzes.

He closed his eyes, exhaling loudly and pulling at his hair.  _ Think, Pete. Treat it like a hypothesis. It’s an “If, Then” statement. _

He thought of girls. He thought of Liz, of the secret crush he’d harbored against Black Widow when he was eleven and the Avengers first saved the day. Girls smelled great, they were pretty, they were nice…

_ If I like girls, then I am straight. _

Yeah. That was old hat to him. Girls were good to go.

Next, he thought of what he could conceivably like about guys. Guys could also be pretty, and nice, and smell good. But he used those traits for girls. This was about differentiating between the two, not finding similarities.

So, guys. They were rougher, but not in a bad way.  _ Muscles, _ he thought with some satisfaction.  _ Muscles are good. _

In his mind, he conjured an image of a celebrity, some singer whose name he couldn’t recall. The guy was one of the media’s latest heartthrobs. He tried to picture someone like that interested in him. Of being with someone like that. Not intimately, just dates, hand-holding, falling asleep next to...

_ Okay, _ he conceded to himself.  _ That wouldn’t be bad. _

But celebrities were one thing. He needed to try closer to the ground.

Could he do all that with Flash? Ned?

Both of these thoughts were immediately met with a resounding  _ NO.  _ Ned was his best friend, like a brother to him. Flash was...Flash. 

He thought back to his Freshman year of high school. There had been a boy who sat near him at study hall. He’d been about the same age as Peter. He’d dressed well, he’d been polite, even going so far as to help Peter collect his books when Flash knocked them off the desk. Brown hair a few shades darker than his and a few inches taller, too.

So, Peter and this boy… He bit his lip, watching the scenario unfold in his mind. Asking him out, seeing a movie, having dinner…kissing goodbye on the front porch, reluctant to leave, like every cliche straight couple in the movies.

Peter hummed softly to himself. He wasn’t...closed off to the idea. It sounded nice. It sounded possible, even doable.

Yeah, he could do that. 

_ If I like guys, then I am gay. _

But, no. That didn’t fit either. Because he liked girls as well as guys. He liked  _ both.  _ Did that make him bisexual?

_ If I like guys, and girls, then I am bisexual. _

How was this supposed to work? Was he supposed to say the right word and suddenly everything would be right with the world? The universe would explode into confetti and he’d reorient his spirit?

None of that happened, but it felt more real than saying he was gay, or straight, when he knew he wasn’t.

He repeated the words over and over in his head, like a mantra.

_ I am bisexual. I am bisexual. I am bisexual. _

The more he said it, the more he realized two things.

  1. He had the inexplicable urge to tell someone as soon as possible.
  2. Telling someone would be _coming out,_ a pair of words which filled him with indescribable fear.



Was he rushing this? Probably. Was he going to slow down and think? Probably not.

Everything he knew about May, and his closest friends, told him that it would be fine. May loved him unconditionally, and had always been open-minded. Ned was his best friend, and had never once indicated he had a problem with anyone or anything LGBT. MJ was  _ gay, _ for crying out loud.

_ Doesn’t matter, _ whispered an insidious little voice in the back of his mind.  _ You thought it yourself earlier. It’s different when it’s personal. Easy to support with words. When it’s your nephew, your best friend, suddenly it’s different. It happens all the time. How do you know MJ won’t just ridicule you for being half-straight? How do you know she won’t expect you to just be gay? _

He  _ didn’t _ know. He had a similar fear of Connor, additional to the fact that he was essentially the  _ catalyst _ to all this. But he had to tell someone. It would never be real unless he did. 

Not for the first time this week, he felt a pang of longing for Karen. She would have been his first choice. Who else was there?

Happy? Definitely not.

Tony?

Peter paused, considering. Telling Tony Stark that he could be bisexual wasn’t the worst option, but it wasn’t the  _ best, _ either. Nothing LGBT had ever come up in conversation between them. It was completely uncharted territory. Should Tony disapprove...then what? He didn’t even have a suit to take away.  _ If _ he told Tony, and  _ if _ worst happened, the rejection would hurt. It would  _ gut _ him. But he’d felt that pain once already, and he’d survived it.

If necessary, it could be endured again.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling to Tony’s number, and shot him a text.

_ hey, mr. stark. do you have time to talk? - P.P _

The reply was so immediate he didn’t even have time to look away from the screen.

_ Sure, kid. What’s up? - T.S. _

Peter bit his lip. He didn’t want to push, but this...this was not the kind of thing to do over text.

_ can we do it in person? - P.P. _

This time Tony did not answer for several minutes, and Peter was halfway done typing out an amendment saying they didn’t have to if he was too busy, when he got the reply.

_ Happy’s already in town. I sent him to pick you up. Got a surprise for you when you get here. - T.S. _

A tiny, hesitant smile crossed his face. Peter sent a quick thank you text, and his gaze fell on the laptop resting on his legs.

This was a significant milestone he’d crossed, but if he had any lingering doubts about his sexuality, there was a  _ very _ easy way to put them to rest. His cursor moved to hover over the internet browser’s incognito mode, but he hesitated. No one was home, and the opportunity was there. All he had to do was click, and search, and...

“Peter?”

He yelped, slamming the laptop shut and then, acting entirely on impulse, he webbed it to his bedroom ceiling.

“May!” he called, scrambling for the door. “Coming!”

He hurried out to meet her before she could investigate the suspicious noise, and found her in the kitchen, unpacking several grocery bags she’d dumped on the table.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. “Connor’s bringing the rest in. So, it’s no secret that I’m hopeless in the kitchen, but from what I’ve heard, he’s not so bad. We’re thinking about trying a home-cooked meal for dinner tonight. You wanna help?”

“I still think this will end in disaster, Mrs. Parker,” Connor announced from behind Peter, making him jump. His arms were laden with bags, which he deposited on the table alongside the rest. “I can make, like, prepared food, but not stuff from scratch. I’m not  _ that _ good.”

Peter locked eyes with him, and when Connor gave him an amused smile, he was momentarily blinded.

“Well, if it does fail and we  _ don’t _ burn the apartment down, we can order takeout,” May replied simply. “Life is boring without a little risk. Peter, you in?”

“Uh...” He turned his gaze on May, and shook his head to clear it. He hadn’t expected them back so quickly, and his head was still spinning from his soul-searching. Much as he would like to stay and have a night in, he needed to continue the path he’d started on, and that was going to be difficult with the two of them in the same house. “I, uh, I actually gotta run out. I’ll be back later, though.”

May frowned in the process of shoving a carton of milk into the fridge. “Out? Where to?”

“Uh...Mr. Stark has something for me,” he said, which  _ was _ the truth. “He said it was a surprise.”

Mercifully, she did not press further. “Alright, just don’t be all night. Is Happy coming to pick you up?”

He nodded. “I’m gonna take a shower before he gets here.”

Then he ducked out of the kitchen, so fast he missed May’s reply and Connor’s confused expression.

* * *

To his surprise, the car made it to the Parker residence in record time. Peter quickly shook his damp hair loose of as much water as he could, bade Connor and May goodbye, and ran downstairs to meet the car.

Happy gave him a wave from the driver’s seat as he pulled open the rear passenger door. 

“Hey, Happy—”

Then he registered who was in the seat next to him, and did a double-take.

Pepper Potts smiled politely back at him. “Hello, Peter.”

Well, that explained why Happy was in town. Pepper  _ did _ have a company to run, and that couldn’t be done from the Avengers compound.

“Uh...hi.” He shut the door behind him and buckled himself in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were...”

“No, no,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Tony called me, it’s perfectly fine. It’s nice to properly meet you. Last time we only just missed each other.”

Oh, yeah. He’d never actually been introduced to her. He’d caught wind of her when Tony offered Peter a spot on the Avengers, but they’d never spoken.

He coughed, as Happy pulled out into traffic. “How...how are you?”

“I’ve been well. There’s always something for me to do.” She scrutinized him, and it took Peter a moment to realize she was probably feeling as awkward as he was. “How are you? Tony told me what happened with the Syndicate and Extremis. I heard you got hurt.”

He nodded. “I’m better now. Connor and I are just laying low. I’m focusing on school, letting Tony plan our next move. Did he tell you about Martin Li?”

Pepper nodded. “When Tony endorsed him with a private donation, it came from his personal account, not the company’s. Stark Industries is safe from whatever fallout will come, so that means the board won’t pressure me about layoffs to compensate for any stock loss. A lot of people get to keep their jobs.” She paused, then said, in a lower voice, “I never expected to hear about Extremis again.”

Peter wasn’t sure what to say to that. He knew that if Tony was involved in something, Pepper would not be too far behind, so no doubt she’d had her own experiences with Extremis. He didn’t want to pry, though he wouldn’t deny his curiosity.

“I’m sure you didn't. I mean, it’s a little frustrating for me, waiting around while they’re out there. I can’t imagine what it’s like to deal with them a second time. You and Mr. Stark can’t really do anything to Li without proof, and I’m not supposed to go out on patrol without my suit, so we’re all sidelined.”

“But that’s not what you want to talk to Tony about.”

Peter’s eyes widened slightly. Was he that obvious?

“You know, I’ve heard you’re a lot like him,” Pepper said kindly, a twinkle in her eyes. “I can see that for myself now. You’re a million times more polite and responsible than I  _ know _ he was at your age, but you’ve got the same kind of...wavelength. And I’ve gotten pretty good at reading Tony over the years.”

Peter felt his respect for Pepper increase. Up close, she had much more of a...grounding presence than he expected. She was the CEO of Stark Industries, the love of Tony Stark’s life, but she didn’t hold herself up by those qualities. Here, in this car, she was as casual and normal as anyone else, and that created a welcoming kind of openness. A sense of a safe space.

“I’m...” He glanced at the driver’s seat. Happy wasn’t paying them any mind, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t listening. “I’m going to tell him something, and I don’t know if he’ll like it.”

Pepper’s brow furrowed, her features softening, but she didn't prod him to continue. He appreciated that.

He averted his eyes. “I...I’m having a problem I’ve never really had before and I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t talk to my aunt or my friends about it, so I thought maybe Mr. Stark could listen? It’s dumb.” Being as vague as possible only made him sound and feel more stupid. “Maybe I shouldn’t—”

“Ah-ah,” Pepper interrupted, stern yet warm. “First of all, Tony would move mountains for you. He doesn’t give out that kind of dedication easily and he doesn’t rescind it without a fight, so whatever it is you’re struggling with, he’s gonna be on top of it. Second, and I’m saying this because I’ve spent years beating it into  _ his _ head, don’t trick yourself into believing that your problems aren’t problems. Trust me. It’s okay to lean on people and ask for help. And...” She shrugged. “If for some reason you get to the compound and you still can’t talk to him about whatever it is, my schedule’s clear for the rest of the day.”

“Uh, you have that conference call at eight, boss,” Happy piped up.

Pepper raised one eyebrow at him. “I will make my schedule clear if it needs to be.”

Peter grinned at that, feeling a little lighter. “Thanks, Miss Potts.”

* * *

Once the ice between them had broken, the rest of the drive passed by quickly. Before Peter knew it, the car had pulled up to the front steps of the compound and Happy threw it in park.

“This is you,” he said. “Tony said he’d be in his workshop.”

Peter nodded. Pepper gave his arm a small squeeze as he climbed out of the car, and after giving the adults a small wave, he walked inside.

Tony’s workshop was under the first floor, accessible through a spiral staircase just outside the kitchen’s boundaries. Peter took the steps slowly, his heart pounding. How was he going to do this coming out? Should he just say it? Thread it into a casual conversation? Blurt it out and then run?

That last one was particularly appealing. Maybe he should have prepared a speech.

He could just turn around and leave. No one  _ had _ to know. There was no obligation. But...that would be committing to keeping it a secret, and he was  _ tired _ of keeping secrets. He didn’t want another one.

Still, he wouldn’t deny there was a small part of him that wanted to keep this information close to the chest, in case it was a truth someone didn’t want to hear.

“Kid, I can see you hovering on the stairs. Come on down.”

Peter jumped at Tony’s voice, shaken from his internal struggle. There was no escape now. Resigned to his fate, he slunk down the stairs into the workshop.

Tony was sitting at a table near the far wall, tinkering with prototype nanobots while DUM-E watched cautiously with a fire extinguisher from the nearby corner.

Peter frowned. “What’s with the, uh...”

“Don’t ask,” Tony said, rolling his eyes without looking away from the tech. “It’s a thing with him.”

“Okay.”

“So, what’s up?” he asked, flicking up his hands to render a 3D hologram of a nanobot. He enlarged it, trying to get a closer look. “Sounded urgent.”

“Y-yeah, um...” Peter swallowed.  _ Think, think, think… _

He hadn’t expected this to be a walk in the park, but it was so much harder than he had expected it to be.

“You know how there are different kinds of grapes?”

Tony paused for a moment to stare at him, then returned to his work. “Grapes.”

“Yeah,” Peter continued, fidgeting. “Like, some people like red grapes, and some people like green grapes. There’s lots of different kinds of grapes, but uh...those are the two common ones. Some people like red, some people like green, and some people like...both?”

“Not really a fan of grapes,” Tony commented, spinning his fingers once. The hologram began to turn slowly in the air. “Blueberries, though. Blueberries are good.”

“But it’s okay to like both, right?” he pressed, a little too urgently.

Tony paused the hologram in its rotation and focused his attention back on Peter.

“I am sensing a really bad metaphor at work here.”

He grimaced, and looked away. Anxiety was rooting him to the spot and locking his jaw closed.

“Kid, look at me.”

He didn’t. He was afraid to. His peripheral vision registered Tony stepping closer to him. He gave no reaction.

“Pete.” Undaunted and refusing to be ignored, Tony stepped into his line of sight. His eyes were widened slightly, a mixture of confusion and fear. “What is it? Are you hurt?”

He shook his head. 

Tony exhaled loudly. “Okay, well, you gotta give me something, buddy. I’m not a mind-reader. Start with one sentence. ”

“I…I...”

_ Tell him. Don’t tell him. You have to tell him! You don’t have to do anything! He’ll hate me! He cares about me! _ His thoughts were moving back and forth, too fast. His chest felt tight, and the room was dipping away. Was he about to  _ think _ himself into a panic attack?

“Peter!” Tony grabbed his shoulder, anchoring him back to reality. “You’re spiraling. It’s all over your face. You wanted to talk to me, right? Start with one sentence. Don’t think. Just speak. The rest will follow.”

One sentence. One sentence. Which sentence? How did he even begin?

“Something happened,” he whispered.

Tony tightened the grip on his shoulder encouragingly. 

“It might not matter.” The pressure in his chest eased a little. A few moments passed, and he tried saying more. “Or you might hate it. But...but if you do, I don’t want to waste any time wondering. I want to get it over with. You know?”

“Sure.” Tony’s voice was gentle, though the alarm on his face only seem to have intensified. “Ripping the bandages off. I get it. So tell me.”

Peter bit his lip, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I think I’m bisexual,” he whispered.

Tony’s hand disappeared, as if Peter had burned him. “What?”

Oh, God. This was it. To his complete mortification, Peter felt himself tear up. He squeezed his eyes shut, but it did little to stop the flow that had begun to look down his cheeks. The pressure in his chest was back, worse than before. “I-I’m bisexual,” he said, unsteadily but louder this time. “So if it’s a problem, and you need to end my ‘internship,’ then please just do it now—”

Warmth enveloped him, crushing his face into the man’s chest, and Peter had a split second to wonder what was happening before he felt arms encircle him, and he understood.

Tony was  _ hugging _ him.

“Pete,” he said thickly. “You just scared the shit out of me.”

Peter didn’t respond. He opened his eyes, peering into the dark color of Tony’s shirt and felt his tears cling to the cloth. Slowly, cautiously, he returned the embrace.

Tony rested his chin atop Peter’s head. “I... _ this _ is what you were afraid to tell me?” His grip tightened, warm and solid and he quickly added, “Whatever I did to make you think that, I am so sorry.”

The impact of his words was slow to fully register, but a few moments later, after absorbing the initial shock that  _ Tony wasn’t mad at him, _ he replied into the shirt, “It wasn’t you. It was...we’d never talked about this kind of thing before. I just didn’t what to get my hopes up.”

“Get your...so you thought...Christ, I’m bad at this. Telling  _ anyone _ takes guts. I wish it had been easier, but I’m proud of you, kiddo,” Tony murmured. “Don’t ever forget that. Okay?”

He nodded.

“And honestly, not to trivialize your moment, but I’m pretty relieved that  _ this _ was the emergency.”

Peter let out a wet snort of amusement.

“Hey. Seriously. I’ll take a coming out over Negative any day.” Tony let go and pulled away, inspecting him. The lines on his face were still a little deep, but he was smiling fondly. “I’ve got questions, naturally. Unless...” He hesitated, then squinted at him. “In your text, when you said ‘talk’ did you mean like...the Talk?”

Peter blanched instantly, horrified. “N-no, Mr. Stark!”

Tony’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, thank god. I’m not ready for that. And for crying out loud, kid, you can call me Tony. We’re well past the formality now.”

Peter smiled. “Tony.”

“Yep, that’s me, don’t wear it out.” He clapped his hands together. “So, who else knows?”

Peter fidgeted. “Um...no one. Just you.”

Tony blinked, and his mouth actually fell open a little. “Wow. Do you...plan on telling anyone? May? Ned? Is this a secret?”

“No, it’s not a secret,” Peter said, with the most force he’d been able to muster since entering the compound. “I’m not hiding it. I just...have to get used to it.”

“Yeah. Don’t push yourself, okay? There isn’t a rush.” Tony pulled up a chair, gesturing for Peter to sit. “What started this? I’d say I’m not trying to be nosy, except I am.”

Peter made a face at him, but the joke had done its job in lifting some more tension from him. “It...it just kinda happened,” he said. 

His mentor raised an eyebrow. “For the record, I’m not judging you for looking at porn.”

_ “No!” _ Peter half-shrieked, and Tony chuckled. “That’s not what happened!”

“Okay, okay. Noted. Did you and Ned have a...bonding moment? You guys always were close.”

“No, Ned’s my best friend!”

Tony grinned. “And Rhodey is mine, but if he made a move and I were single I can’t say I wouldn’t be tempted.”

He wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not. “Sometimes things just happen, Mister—Tony. I did a lot of reflecting. I don’t think there was any kind of trigger to it.” That was a bald-faced lie, but if Tony suspected anything, he gave no sign of it. In an attempt to steer the conversation away from anything that would implicate Connor, Peter asked, “You said there was a surprise for me?”

Tony’s eyes lit up. “I did! Your suit’s finished. No Karen, yet, but Friday is doing her best work. Still, it’s ready to go home with you. I just have some minor adjustments to make...if you wanna help?”

“Absolutely.”

A panel in the floor opened next to them, and a large glass cylinder rose out of it. Inside was the Spider-Man suit, and there seemed to have been a few alterations. The blue was slightly darker in color, and the web-shooters had been streamlined even further into what looked like narrow wristbands. Tony beckoned him over, and pulled up a series of holographic blueprints for the Spider-Man suit. He pushed one to him, and Peter grabbed it. It was a detailed map of the new modifications distributed throughout the suit. Collapsible web-shooters, titanium nanolayer woven into the material for increased durability...they’d have to do several tests before Tony would give it the green light. 

“Okay, let’s start with your heads-up display first...”

“Tony?” Peter turned away from the blueprints, unsure how to form the best words. “I...thank you. For everything.”

Tony’s expression skipped softening, and went all the way to full-on melting. “Anytime, kid.”

* * *

It was after seven by the time he returned to his apartment. Turning his key into the lock and opening the door, Peter was immediately assailed by the smell of spices, cooked meat, all of it tinged with the acrid smell of  _ burnt. _

“You’re back!” May called from the kitchen. Peter made his way toward her. She was sitting at the table with Connor, the both of them eating a vaguely lumpy, slightly blackened, but still appealing meatloaf. “How’d it go?”

“It went well.” Peter held up the suitcase Tony had given him when he left. “Mr. Stark said the suit’s all ready to go.”

“Curfew still applies,” May warned immediately. “Maybe Connor should go with you on patrol. Safety in numbers.”

At her words, Connor squirmed, as if trying to make himself smaller. “I don’t think I’d be much help out there.” He hurriedly pointed at the dish on the table. “Look, meatloaf! It tastes better than it looks.”

“That it does,” May agreed. “I was ready to throw in the towel, but Connor convinced me we could salvage it. He’s a trooper.”

Connor flushed. “It was still a gamble. But hey, you were the one who said life is boring without a little risk. Right, Peter?”

Peter glanced between him and May, and their prized meatloaf. The kitchen seemed brighter than he remembered, and the two of them both glowed with pride in a hard-earned reward.

“Yeah,” Peter said, smiling. “Right.”

“So, Peter,” May said clapping her hands together. “Tomorrow, Connor’s going to go with you to Midtown.”

Peter raised his eyebrows, glancing at the other boy. “Oh?”

Connor looked down. “I’m about three years behind where I should be. Negative didn’t exactly care about keeping us up to date on that stuff. I need to catch up, especially if I’m trying to go back to a normal life.”

“Midtown has a tutoring and recovery program,” May explained. “I signed him up for it. Connor will study there until he catches up to his grade level, then enroll in the next grade with you. It’ll take time, probably the whole summer, but...well, it’ll be worth it.”

“They’ll let him in even if he’s not a student?”

“The program accepts outside students if they’re incoming transfers.”

“Basically, I’m promising myself to them,” he said, biting his lip. “I told her she didn’t have to—”

“And I told  _ you _ that I’m not letting you live your life in this day and age with only an eighth-grade education,” May said, not unkindly. “There’s no cost to it. The program is covered by the September Foundation.”

Whether that was coincidence or a deliberate guiding hand, Peter didn’t know. But he’d have to thank Tony all the same. Getting Connor off the streets was one thing—funding his education was another.

Connor went slightly pink and mumbled, “It’s just a lot.”

“It’s not anything any kid shouldn’t have.” May glanced at Peter, her expression saying,  _ Help me. _

He launched into the conversation without thinking. “Midtown’s awesome. It’s big, the teachers are great, the classes are really engaging and challenging, they really have all the best stuff there…” The tension in Connor’s face deepened, so Peter quickly changed tactics. “It’ll be fun! We can walk to school together, and I’ll introduce you to my other friends, Ned and MJ.”

That perked him up. “You will?”

“Course. You can never have too many friends, and they’re great.”

He beamed and nodded affirmatively, then resumed eating, while a satisfied May stood up to fix him a plate. As he sat down to eat with them, Peter’s eyes were drawn to Connor’s face again. He was too busy involved in conversation with May to notice. There was a warmth to him that hadn’t been there the first time they met, and his smiles and laughs had been showing up with more frequency. 

Coming out to Tony wasn’t the end of this. It was the first step in a journey Peter wasn’t sure he should be taking. But for now, things were better. Hopefully they would stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!
> 
> I wanted to do Peter's coming out in stages, rather than him just barreling into Connor with the revelation. 
> 
> I was very pleasantly surprised by the feedback from last chapter! I mean to get around to replying to comments individually, but for now I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	10. This Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter confides in his friends and asks someone an important question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "This Feeling" by The Chainsmokers.
> 
> Chapter warnings: None! The fluff still goes on.
> 
> Finally, it took forever fo me to be able to sit down and upload this! I've been busy all weekend.
> 
> MJ is a little more talkative than she probably would be if Homecoming had given her more screentime, but I projected a few of my friends through her and I imagine she's grown closer to Peter and Ned since Toomes.
> 
> Also, in case it needs to be said, THIS FIC WILL NOT CONTAIN ANY SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME. It's set well before Infinity War and all that sadness. I did, however, see Endgame on opening night and was very enthused by it.

The next morning, when Peter rose early to get ready for school, he found Connor already dressed in the living room. He noticed, with some amusement, that Connor was nervously attempting to tame his hair, without success. 

“Ready?” he asked, grabbing his jacket off the wall by the door and slipping it on.

“I guess,” Connor said quietly. The same apprehension that had been on his face last night was making a comeback. He scrambled for his hair once more, attempting to flatten it down.

Impulsively, Peter reached over and swatted his hands away. “You don't have to. Messy looks good on you.”

Connor blinked. “Oh...okay.”

Peter felt his ears grow hot. “Alright, let’s go!” he said, much too loudly and quickly, then flung himself out the door.

_ Smooth, Parker. _

School was a far, albeit not impossible walk away from the Parker residence, but Peter wasn’t about to needlessly subject Connor to a hike. The nearest transit station was only three blocks from his apartment complex.

“We’re taking the train?” Connor asked, slowing his steps as they approached the steps leading under the city.

“Yeah.” Peter glanced back at him, confused. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine, just thinking.” He glanced around the city, peering down the nearest street. “I know a section of the underground with a broken wall that bypasses the ticket kiosks and turnstiles. It’s not far from here. We can use that to get into this station without being seen.”

Peter stared at him. Seconds passed by. He stared some more. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his MetroCard and a crumpled ten dollar bill. “I’m gonna buy you a  _ ticket, _ Connor.”

“Oh.”

Peter really couldn’t help but laugh at the embarrassment on the other boy’s face, but he struggled to collect himself quickly, then beckoned Connor to follow him down into the station. Per New York standard, it was  _ incredibly _ crowded, flooded with people on their morning commute, other traveling students, and the various tourists of the day.

“So, is this your first time riding the train legally?” he asked, exchanging the cash for a ticket at a kiosk and retrieving his change. He handed the ticket to Connor, then led him toward the turnstiles.

“Pretty much,” Connor replied, watching the whole process with a kind of awed expression. “Before I met you, I never really cared about what was allowed and what wasn’t.”

Peter swiped his MetroCard and stepped through the turnstile, then showed him how to scan his ticket. “I’m going to be showing you how to do a lot of things without breaking and entering, aren’t I?”

Connor smirked, passing through the gate. “Probably.”

On the train, while Connor fascinatedly watched the stations zip by out the window, Peter sat on a seat behind him and let his thoughts wander.

While Tony’s support meant the world, he wasn’t exactly Peter’s first choice to go to for advice on his love life. Plus, there was the fact that Tony’s opinion of Connor would  _ absolutely _ color his reaction if he found out who Peter was crushing on.

He needed to talk to someone his age. A peer who could possibly understand his situation, and who would give him the truth bluntly. There was only one person who fit that particular bill.

He pulled out his phone and sent a text.

_ hey, you have a free period today before lunch right? - P.P _

As an afterthought, Peter changed contacts and texted Ned.

_ heads up, connor is coming to school with me today. BE COOL. - P.P. _

Ned responded almost immediately, with three successive texts.

_ OH MY GOD FINALLY - N.L. _

_ I’VE BEEN WAITING TO MEET ANOTHER SUPERHERO - N.L. _

_ Or wait, is he a supervillain?? How does this work - N.L. _

Peter’s eye twitched.

_ he’s not a supervillain. don’t call him that. - P.P. _

_ Ok but he works for one, right? - N.L. _

Peter grimaced. Though he’d considered it, he hadn’t told Ned Negative’s identity. He didn’t want to involve his friend in this any further, and the more Ned knew the more dangerous things got for him.

_ not anymore. don’t talk about that either. he’s nervous enough about today. just be cool. - P.P. _

Just then, he got a response to his other text.

_ maybe - M.J. _

Classic MJ. With a roll of his eyes, he replied. 

_ can you meet me in the library during then? i need to talk to you about something. - P.P. _

She responded more quickly this time.

_ sure - M.J. _

_ “Next stop, Forest Hills,” _ the conductor called on the overhead speakers.

“Are they gonna take my ticket?” Connor asked Peter suddenly, as they stood up.

He shook his head. “No, why?”

“I want to keep it,” he replied, folding up the slip of paper and stuffing it into his pocket. When Peter gave him a puzzled look, he fidgeted. “Don’t people keep their first ticket to things?”

He shrugged. “To concerts and movies, I guess. For sentimentality.”

“Oh. Well, it’s my first proper train ride. It’s sentimental to me,” Connor decided.

The tiny look of pride on his face was so endearing that Peter had to turn away, lest his expression betray his thoughts.

* * *

They had to part ways eventually. Connor’s tutoring was to take place in a conference room outside the administration office, and Peter’s normal classes were nowhere in that direction. Despite that, he still risked tardiness to make sure Connor found his way to the room alright.

Ned was disappointed that he wouldn’t be joining them, but Peter assured him they’d see each other at lunch. He attempted to distract himself from the inevitable conversation with MJ he’d locked himself into. When the bell rang, and Peter hurried to the library, he discovered MJ sitting at a table in the far corner, away from any potential eavesdroppers. She put down the massive book she was reading when he approached.

“Morning, MJ.”

“Peter,” she greeted thoughtfully, scrutinizing him. “Not that I don’t love a little mystery, but you’re...you’re not exactly the secret-sharing type.”

He paused in the act of slinging off his backpack. “What makes you think I’m here about a secret?”

MJ raised one eyebrow at him, letting the gesture speak for itself.

Right. She had a point.

“Okay,” he sighed. “It’s...it’s  _ not _ a secret, but it’s definitely personal. And I figure, you’re my friend. You should be one of the first people to know.”

To his surprise, MJ’s expression changed to one of confusion. “I thought Ned already knew.”

“What?” Peter blinked. “He...knows? That’s impossible.” Ned was smart, and he knew Peter better than most people, but he wasn’t  _ psychic. _

She gave him a long, calculating look, then abruptly yawned and stretched. Then she folded her hands in front of herself. “You didn’t meet me to tell me you’re Spider-Man after all, did you?”

Peter dropped his backpack, right on his foot, and cursed. From the opposite end of the library, he could feel the librarian glaring daggers into his back.

“What?” he hissed. “I’m...I’m not…  _ What?” _

“Yes, you are,” MJ replied, in a long-suffering tone. “You don’t share secrets, but you don’t keep them very well either.”

Peter sputtered wildly at her, unable to form coherent words, and in that moment he knew his fate was sealed. His shoulders slumped, and he sat down in the chair next to her. There was no way he could argue it anymore.

Tony was going to  _ kill _ him. There were only so many times he could fail to keep his identity a secret. Was the entire school going to know by the end of the year?

At that thought, he asked, “Why haven’t you told the whole school?”

MJ actually looked offended. “Give me a little credit, dude. I’m nosy, but I’ve still got my integrity. Even if you’re bad at hiding it, you don’t want people to know for a  _ reason. _ Plus...you’re my friend.”

Warmth flooded him at that, mixed with a little shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“I know,” she said simply, closing the book in front of her and pushing it away. “Okay, so, I guess we’ll circle back to that. Why’d you  _ really _ want to talk?”

“Actually...” If she already knew… “You might as well get the whole story.”

She smirked. “Might as well.”

In hushed tones, he started at the beginning. There was a surprising amount she already knew about the Toomes situation, and he only had to fill in tiny gaps of her knowledge there. After bringing her up to speed with the events of Homecoming night, he began to tell her about Connor, how they met, and how Connor came to be living with him and May. He told her about Negative, too, though not who he was. Like Ned, there was only so much he was willing to let her know about someone so dangerous. He explained the history of the Syndicate, the Inner Demons, the Maggia, and Hammerhead. She took it all in stride, her demeanor completely unaffected by the story—though he did notice her eyes graze him up and down when he described his injuries to her.

“Okay,” she said. “Well, Peter, that sounds like a lot of problems, but none that I could really help with. I mean, I’ve got to study a biology exam. Taking down crime bosses is gonna conflict with that.”

“No, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, taking a moment to clear his own head. He put his face in his hands. “I’m...it’s about Connor.”

“Go on.”

“I...I think I’m...I like him,” Peter whispered.

“Okay.”

“Like, I  _ like _ -like him.”

“No, I got that, I’m just wondering...” Gently, she pulled his hands away so he could look at her. Her brow was furrowed deep with concern. “You know that’s  _ okay _ , right?”

Peter blinked. “Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s not what this is about.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied by his answer. “So what is it?”

“I don’t know what to  _ do _ about it.”

“Ask him out, you dweeb.”

“What?” he yelped. Someone shushed him from a few shelves over, and he lowered his voice. “I can’t. He has a lot more important things going on, like rebuilding his life. He doesn’t need me complicating it any more. Doing that would be so selfish of me.”

MJ stared at him for several quiet, calculating moments. Then, she narrowed her eyes. “You’re such a masochist, Parker.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Look at the facts.” She jabbed him in the chest with one finger, her eyes flashing with a seldom-seen fire. “When you asked out the last person you crushed on, her dad turned out to be a supervillain. You had to dump her in order to go after him. You also got a  _ building _ dropped on you. I’d be scared to make a move on anyone else too, after that. And you already  _ know _ that Connor has his own Vulture out there, that you and Negative are gonna face each other eventually. You’re afraid you’re gonna have to choose between your love life and Spider-Man, like you did with Liz. You know it’s okay to like boys, you just don’t think it’s okay for  _ you _ to like  _ anyone.” _

“That’s insane,” Peter sputtered, after several seconds of floundering for a response. “Connor is nothing like Liz. He knows I’m Spider-Man, and he  _ hates _ Negative. There’s no conflict there.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

He opened his mouth to answer her, but nothing came to mind. His jaw closed. He opened his mouth again, and shut it a second time. Damn it. She had him. 

MJ leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “Don’t torture yourself. You have to believe that you deserve this. And you have to give Connor more credit, there are more possibilities than endless pining or destroying your friendship with him.”

Peter sighed. Her blunt logic was very difficult to dispute—especially when it was right on the money. Connor was probably immune to the part of Peter’s life which would normally torpedo most relationships. Negative was still out there, but Negative was going to be out there regardless of what happened between them. The only thing holding him back was his own fear. “I hate that you’re right.”

MJ lifted one eyebrow, her expression slipping back into its usual disguise of carefully-arranged apathy. “No you don’t.”

He grimaced, embarrassed. “No, I don’t.”

“So, moving on. Now that we’ve gotten past that, tell me something else,” she suggested. “Why him? What do you like about him?”

This was a question Peter was prepared to answer. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure at first. When we met, he was interesting, but he didn’t exactly make a good first impression. He  _ talked _ about wanting to not cause problems, but his actions didn’t line up with that. And then...he saved my life. He defied his orders and turned on the Syndicate thugs. He hadn't planned to, he just...made a decision when I created the opportunity. He fought Hammerhead and hurt himself in order to break into that container. When Hammerhead trapped us, and I started panicking, the only thing he focused on was calming me down. I was a complete stranger, and he had every reason to assume we'd be enemies. If things had gone a little differently, we  _ would _ have been. After that I thought I understood him, and then he ran from me and Mr. Stark. And that...that stung, but I wasn’t going to chase after him.

“Then, y’know, the whole thing with Mallen happened, and I got the rest of the story. He  _ lied _ to Negative about me interfering. When he chose to run, he did it to get away from the Syndicate because he hoped they would  _ chase _ him. That didn’t work, they went after me anyway, but it meant he was in the clear. He could have dug out the microchip in his neck and kept running. He could have gone back to see his sister, or to the other side of the country and try starting a new life. Who knows if it would have  _ worked, _ but for the first time in his life, he had that opportunity. Except he didn’t. The second he learned what Mallen and the other Inner Demons were doing to me, he turned around and came straight back. These people hurt him, abused him for years, and he walked right back into the lion’s den for someone he’d met just a week ago. He won’t admit it, but I think that says a lot more about who he is than anything he ever did as an Inner Demon.”

“So you admire his integrity,” she summarized.

“I’ve met the other Inner Demons, MJ,” Peter replied, shivering. “They’re...sadistic. Monstrous. And I don’t know specifically what Connor has done, but...he still has his soul. He’s not perfect, but no one is and he's trying his best. Sometimes that’s all we can do.

“And after that,” he continued, before she could respond. “After that, when we stayed in the penthouse for that weekend, and he moved into the apartment with May and I that Monday...he let his walls drop. I saw who he was before Negative got his claws into him. He’s playful, he’s compassionate, and he’s sensitive. He can’t navigate the city to save his life and he makes really good sandwiches. He likes Star Wars, and he’s  _ totally _ tone-deaf. His nose does this little crinkly thing when he laughs, and I really like hearing that sound. But I  _ know _ he doesn’t see any of that. He just sees the thing that Negative made him into. I’ve never met anyone who was so blind to the kind of person they really are. He’s trying to get rid of the darkness the Syndicate forced on him, and there’s a...a strength to that. I thought it was just friendship, but...I want more than that. And I want him to want that too.”

He paused, his cheeks turning pink. Struck by a sudden rush of bravery, he said, “Plus, he’s not bad to look at, either. I’ve seen him without a shirt on.”

MJ snorted. “That’s real gay, Parker.”

He glowered at her. “You  _ asked.” _

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to wax poetic at me. So, you gonna ask him out or what?”

He considered. He couldn’t deny his feelings, nor could he ignore MJ’s rock-solid argument. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? The only thing was… “I don’t have an idea for a date,” he admitted. “A movie?”

She stared at him. “A movie? Peter, this is a  _ first date. _ Watching a screen in silence in a public theater does nothing to get the ball rolling. You need to  _ interact _ .”

“I don’t really have any first date experience, MJ,” he protested, pouting. “What would you suggest?”

“What’s something you know he’s never done before? Someplace he’s never been?”

“Um...a lot.” The zoo? He liked dogs, and probably other animals. But was that interactive enough? The zoos closed pretty early in the city, too. If he was going to take Connor out, he wanted  _ time _ to enjoy it. Then an idea occurred to him. “Coney Island. He’s probably never been to a carnival or amusement park. There’s a lot to do there, and it’s open pretty late.”

MJ nodded. “Alright. Not bad. Maybe you’ll be a proper Romeo yet.”

Peter smirked. “Wouldn’t you, of all people, cry foul at comparing that story to an idyllic romance?”

“Just let me have this, Parker.”

He suppressed a snicker, not wanting to draw the librarian’s ire again. After a few moments MJ retreated back into her book, satisfied with her work, and Peter allowed his thoughts to turn to Connor for the rest of period.

He had the beginnings of a plan, at least. Now he just needed to figure the rest of it out.

* * *

Lunchtime came quicker than Peter expected, and by the time he’d managed to collect his things and hurry after MJ, the cafeteria was mostly full.

As MJ melted into the crowd leading into the self-serve area to obtain food, someone poked Peter’s back. He turned around to find Connor, chewing his lip nervously.

“There’s a lot of people in this school,” he said, wide-eyed. “Much more than there were in Baltimore.”

“Yeah, I stopped trying to keep track of everyone a long time ago,” Peter replied, shrugging. He glanced around, looking for a familiar face. “Ned should be at our spot…”

And indeed he was, sitting at a table nestled against the far wall, munching on a sandwich. Peter beckoned for Connor to follow, and led him over.

“Hey, man,” he said, and Ned reached for him. Connor’s eyes darted back and forth from one to another as they performed their signature handshake. Peter cleared his throat, and gestured awkwardly between the two boys. “So, Connor, this is Ned. Ned, this is Connor.”

“Uh, hi,” Connor said, shifting his feet in place. “Peter’s told me a lot about you. It’s nice to meet you.”

Ned stared at him for a moment, his face completely impassive. Peter blinked at the lack of exuberance. Did Ned have some kind of problem with Connor that he didn’t know about? Still unsure that he wasn’t hallucinating the entire exchange, he reached into his backpack and pulled out two bagged lunches. He passed one to Connor, who immediately pounced on the pudding cup within.

“So,” Ned said loudly, threading his fingers together in front of him like an old-school mafioso. “Star Wars. Which one’s your favorite? Prequels? Original trilogy? Sequels?”

Connor swallowed a mouthful of pudding before answering.  _ “Rogue One.” _

The emotionless facade on Ned’s face vanished as quickly as a light bulb blowing, and he grinned. “Alright, alright. Nice choice, Connor. I can dig it.”

Peter rolled his eyes, and let out a relieved laugh. He was  _ quizzing _ him. “Nobody's ever gonna say the prequels, man.”

“Hey, I have to make sure! My best bro doesn’t need that kind of toxic influence in his life,” Ned cackled, digging back into his lunch.

“Ned is a purist,” Peter explained, as Connor smiled slightly. “But no matter what he says, his favorite Episode is  _ The Force Awakens.” _

Just then, MJ appeared behind Connor, dropping her tray next to him with a loud clatter and making him jump. “Ned, I will not tolerate gatekeeping. This table is a safe space.” She glanced at Connor, who was watching her with a slightly alarmed expression, and waved. “‘Sup.”

Ned adopted an expression of mock offense. “I’m not gatekeeping! The prequels are fine, I just don’t trust anyone who says they’re their  _ favorite. _ Besides, you’re only saying that because you like Padme.”

“He has a point,” Peter pointed out. Connor was watching the three of them interact like a spectator to a tennis match, his eyes bouncing back and forth between them. Peter offered him an encouraging smile.

“Yes, she could step on me in the middle of the Galactic Senate and I would thank her,” MJ deadpanned, shameless. Ned choked on his juice. “But only when she’s all battle-worn and has that blaster.”

“I like them all,” Peter decided, unprompted. “But if I had to pick...I mean,  _ A New Hope _ is just a classic. I liked Luke the most in that one.”

“He whines a lot,” MJ pointed out.

Peter dug around his own lunch bag, producing a sandwich and pudding cup of his own. “The Death Star wouldn’t have been destroyed without him, he can whine all he wants.”

“Well,” Connor piped up, hesitantly joining the fray. “Technically, even without Luke, its design flaw would still exist. Even if he had never found those droids, someone would have eventually come along and blown the Death Star.”

MJ shrugged. “You think?”

Connor squirmed in his seat, as Peter’s friends turned their gazes upon him. “I mean...kinda, yeah? That’s why I like  _ Rogue One _ so much. It’s not about whether you have space magic or a special bloodline. It’s not even about defeating evil. It’s about people who made mistakes, who were bitter and jaded, and dark enough that they  _ could _ have walked away, but they  _ didn’t. _ They stood up, and pushed back. If it weren’t for them...there wouldn’t  _ be _ a new hope for the galaxy. I like stories that say  _ people _ can do good, not just a Chosen One. Y’know?”

His jaw clamped shut after that, apparently aware of how much he’d been speaking.

“Okay, that’s fair,” Ned decided, and MJ nodded.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, smiling. Connor’s eyes flitted over to meet his. “The people with the most good in them are the ones who didn’t start out that way.”

Connor’s face flushed a little, and Peter could  _ feel _ MJ wiggling her eyebrows at him. He did not give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her.

“By the way, Ned, MJ knows about  _ Spider-Man,” _ Peter added, dropping his voice to a whisper. Ned choked on his juice a second time.

“I swear I didn’t tell her!”

“Mm, you and Peter kinda  _ did, _ actually,” MJ responded, inspecting her fingernails. “But it’s okay. The secret’s safe with me.”

“How many people is this now?” Connor asked.

“Four, though you’re the only person I actually deliberately told.”

Ned nodded sagely. “For everyone else, he was just very unobservant.”

“Dude!”

* * *

Conversation steered away from Spider-Man soon after. To Peter’s great satisfaction, Connor came more and more out of his shell around Ned and MJ as the lunch period wore on. By the time the bell rang, and the group began to split up, he seemed much lighter, as if made of helium.

MJ quickly veered off to go to her history class, leaving Peter and Ned to walk Connor to his tutoring.  Outside the administration office, he stopped and suddenly extended a hand.

“Ned, it was...really nice to meet you. And MJ, too.”

Without missing a beat, Ned returned the gesture and shook. “You too, man. Help me keep Peter out of trouble, okay?”

To his surprise, Connor laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

“I’ll see you by the front doors?” Peter asked. Connor nodded. With a tiny wave, he shuffled into the office.

“I like him,” Ned decided. Peter fell into step beside him as they headed for their next class. “How do you think that went?”

“He was being honest. He likes you,” Peter replied knowingly. “If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have shaken your hand.” He held up his own, wiggling his fingers. “That’s how his empathy works. He can’t always control his powers, so he wouldn’t risk accidentally reading you if he didn’t trust you.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “So  _ did _ he read me?”

“Nah, you would have felt it. It tingles.”

“That’s so cool.” Then, after a pause, Ned asked, “So when can I come over? I miss May.”

“Uh...” Peter could juggle Spider-Man and Ned easily enough, but he wanted to keep his schedule open for him and Connor, just in case the universe was on his side. He also needed to tell Ned... “Not sure yet. Soon, though. I’ll text you when I know?”

This was acceptable for Ned, but for Peter it barely registered. Now that the thought had come up again, he spent the rest of the day half-listening to his teachers and fellow students, his mind dreaming up possible scenarios. He made very little progress in a plan  _ or _ his schoolwork.

When the final bell rang, Peter dragged himself toward the school’s front exit. As he trudged through the halls, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Ned.

_ Hey, I gotta stay behind and help Professor Warren clean up a bunch of beakers I knocked over. Go on without me. I’ll see you tomorrow! - N.L. _

This was equal parts good and bad. On the one hand, he had Connor alone, which presented an opportunity, and on the other hand...he had Connor alone, which presented an opportunity.

Peter sent back a short reply and, despite his mounting nerves, quickened his steps.

By the door and behind a large group of seniors, Connor was waiting for Peter, his arms laden with a binder and several workbooks. Quickly, Peter slung off his backpack, offering it to him.

“Here, I’ll carry them.”

“Thanks.” He dumped the books inside. Peter zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder again. The weight felt like it hadn’t changed at all. Perks of proportional spider-strength.

“Are we taking the train again?” Connor asked, as they moved through the throng of freshly-liberated students.

“I was thinking about walking,” he admitted. “That okay?”

“Fine with me.”

They only got one block away from school before Peter began having a silent mental breakdown.

How was he supposed to do this? He didn’t have a plan! He hadn’t even committed to asking Connor  _ today, _ but the longer he waited, the more this would torture him. MJ, damn her, had successfully obliterated all the arguments his brain normally would have used to talk him out of it. All he was left with was an aching sensation and an opportunity that slipped further and further out of reach the longer he dawdled.

This was different than when he’d asked Liz to Homecoming. His nerves weren’t exactly  _ worse _ this time around, but Liz also hadn’t been  _ living in his apartment. _ If Connor said no, Peter would simply die from the ensuing awkwardness that would become his daily life.

Alternatively, if he said yes…

“I want to ask you something,” he announced without thinking, freezing in place on the sidewalk. Connor halted a split-second later, and gave him a quizzical look. “You’ve never been to Coney Island, have you? Do you want to go?”

He considered for a moment, then nodded, though the confusion hadn’t quite abandoned him. “Sure.”

“Uh, with me?” Peter added, clarifying. His gaze fell to the ground. “The two of us. Together. This week. Maybe Friday? Like a...like a date?”

The silence between them stretched on for so long that Peter began planning his own funeral. When he chanced a glance, Connor looked glassy-eyed and thunderstruck, as if he’d been clubbed over the head.

“A date? Like, with  _ me?” _

Peter nodded.

“I’m not a girl.”

At that, a nervous chuckle escaped him. “Uh...yeah, I noticed.”

“But...you...” Connor gaped slightly, like a fish out of water. He seemed incapable of forming more words.

Peter bounced on the balls of his feet, feeling twitchy, and said, “To be fair, I never  _ told you _ I was straight. I just...didn’t think I wasn’t.” He bit his lip. “Surprise?”

Connor wheezed out a shaky laugh at that, and Peter released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Um...Friday, you said?” he asked, beaming at Peter. “I can do Friday.”

“Cool,” was Peter’s very lame response. “That’s...that’s good.”

“Um.” Connor gestured awkwardly in the direction toward home. “Should we…?”

“Yeah, let’s not keep May waiting.”

As they resuming walking, an awkward silence had begun to fill the air between them. But there was an electricity there as well, that hadn’t been there moments before, and it expelled their nervousness with each step.

They had a  _ date. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay a date! Look at these dumb lovely boys. They are so dumb and I love them.
> 
> While I really enjoyed this chapter, during my proofreading I couldn't help but feel like I was missing something or that something in this chapter reads funny. This is a rushed publishing, though.
> 
> I'm heartened to hear people are enjoying Connor, and I look forward to seeing you all on Thursday!


	11. Cosmic Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Connor go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Cosmic Love" by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> Chapter warnings: None!
> 
> Enjoy the date. If I had to pick one chapter that was my favorite, it would be this.

Immediately after getting home, Connor headed to the kitchen for something to eat, while Peter whipped out his phone as he quickly walked toward his bedroom.

_mj, i asked him out and he said yes! i have no idea what i am doing, but i did it! - P.P._

He sent the text and tossed his phone onto the mattress, then collapsed onto a bean bag adjacent to the bunk.

Step one, ask Connor out. Complete.

Step two, what was step two?

It would come to him. He had enough money for a one ticket, but not two. Maybe he could ask May to borrow some so he had enough. And they’d need more for food, too.

The money problem really should have been step one.

His phone chirped, and Peter flung himself across the room to answer it.

_Wait, what? - N.L._

He squinted at the reply. It was from Ned. Why would Ned…

Oh no.

His phone was buzzing with more texts now.

_Peter? - N.L._

_So, obviously, that wasn’t meant for me. - N.L._

_But uh, congrats? I’m glad you got a date. - N.L._

_Wait, it’s with Connor, isn’t it? - N.L._

_I_ **_knew_ ** _I wasn’t imagining things! - N.L._

_Did you feel like you couldn’t tell me? Dude, you’re my best friend. You are my Bro. You could date an alien and I wouldn’t care. - N.L._

_Actually, an alien would be pretty awesome! - N.L._

_Connor’s cool too, though. - N.L._

_I love you, man. Tell me how it goes. Hopefully no supervillains crash it. - N.L._

An overwhelming surge of emotion washed over Peter. He had no logical reason to doubt _any_ of his close friends or family, and even though anxiety was a bitch, he’d doubted Ned the least. With each message, Peter felt his affection for his best friend grow, tinged with a little guilt.

He should have just told Ned. Ned was the _best_ friend he could ever ask for.

Hastily, he typed out a reply.

_i’m so sorry. this isn’t how i wanted to tell you. this started with connor but it’s taken me only until now to start realizing and accepting it. may doesn’t even know yet. i should have told you in person, and not as an accident. but i’m really glad that this is okay with you. i love you too, ned. - P.P._

He paused, then sent a second text.

_also, what do you mean you knew? how did you know when even i didn’t??? - P.P._

Ned responded almost instantly.

 _Dude, you’re not as slick as you think you are. I mean, you talked to me a_ **_lot_ ** _about him. Plus, what you said in the cafeteria today? That was disgustingly sappy. You made him blush. - N.L._

A wheezing little giggle escaped from Peter’s lips as he typed.

_don’t expose me like this - P.P._

_You exposed_ **_YOURSELF._ ** _\- N.L._

Peter rolled his eyes and pocketed his phone. Today was Monday. He had four days to get the money and decide what to wear.

He was probably overthinking this.

* * *

In the end, Peter came up with a list.

Step One: Ask out Connor. Complete.

Step Two: Ask May for money for Coney Island.

Step Three: Pick an outfit.

Step Four: Take Connor to Coney Island.

Step Five: Profit

(He’d put the last one down as a joke, but scratched it out after MJ laughed at him.)

Getting the money from May had been slightly tricky. Peter didn’t want to ask while Connor was present—it would make him feel bad. He didn’t get a chance until Wednesday night. He and May were in the process of educating their new guest on all their favorite movies, and it was May’s turn to choose. Connor sat through the first two _Lord of the Rings_ films before tapping out, and sleepily wandering off.

“He’s gonna need more endurance if he wants to run with our squad,” May commented, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth as _Return of the King_ began. “We’re marathoners in this house.”

“We have a squad?” Peter asked cheekily. “There’s two of us.”

“We have Ned.”

“That’s a trio.”

“Ned _and_ MJ.”

“That’s a quartet.”

She threw some kernels at him, but he deflected them with a pillow, cackling.

“Maybe this weekend we’ll catch him up on the Hobbit,” she remarked with a smile, turning her attention back to the screen.

“Actually,” he said, trying to play it cool. “Um, Connor and I were thinking of going to Coney Island on Friday after school.”

“Oh? How come?”

Peter hesitated. Here was a good opportunity to come out. He could just outright say it. He had no doubt May would be supportive—his anxieties had been put to bed days ago. But...May was a lot. She would dote, and that would be awkward. Especially since he and Connor hadn’t even _had_ their date yet.

He could always come out and just not mention Connor or the date, but that would be suspicious. She hadn’t been born yesterday.

The coming out conversation could wait until after Friday, he decided.

“He’s never really been to an amusement park or anything,” he replied truthfully. “And it’s not Six Flags, but it’s so close it's basically in our backyard. I just don’t have enough money for the both of us.”

May’s expression softened a little, and she ruffled Peter’s hair fondly. “How much do you need? I can’t get in the way of a good time. Maybe I’ll join you!”

 _This is what we call a miscalculation,_ his brain supplied helpfully.

“Um...” he stammered. “Well, I-I guess...”

"Oh, look at your face. I’m kidding,” she teased, grinning. “Connor’s probably sick of me, and you two should get out of the house and have fun. Are you going to invite Ned or MJ?”

“Maybe,” Peter replied evasively, relieved. “But, um, can I borrow maybe forty dollars? I have forty already. Tickets are 25 dollars each and that gives us money for food.”

“Say no more.” May stood up and disappeared into her bedroom, returning a moment later with her purse. She fiddled around inside it for a moment, then produced two twenties and handed them over. “Here you go.”

Peter beamed, accepting the money graciously. “Thanks, May. I owe you.”

“No problem.”

Step Two, complete.

* * *

He expected Step Three to be tough, but was still not prepared for the frustration.

“Why is this so difficult?” he groaned, tossing aside the shirt he’d been holding. “It’s Thursday night, we’re going out _tomorrow_ and I still can’t decide.”

Ned carefully picked up the discarded garment and folded it neatly on Peter’s bed. “I have never seen you obsess over clothing like this.”

“That’s because he’s overthinking,” MJ explained. She was leaning against the frame of the bedroom doorway. “Where is the source of all your consternation, anyways?”

“Connor? He’s out with May. Shopping or something.” Peter resumed digging through his drawers as if searching for gold. “I have so many graphic Ts!”

MJ yawned. “Yes, you do.”

“I like your graphic Ts,” Ned commented from the bed. “You have some funny ones. Maybe one of those?”

“No, he needs to dress like he put some care into his outfit, not like he’s going to school,” MJ argued.

“But he’s going to Coney Island,” Ned countered. “Not a five-star restaurant.”

Peter whirled around to face them. “No matter what I wear, it probably doesn’t matter, right? Connor’s seen most of my clothes already.”

MJ bit her lip, and glanced at Ned, who sniggered.

_“Not like that!”_

In the end, he decided on a pair of blue jeans and a grey T-shirt, with an unbuttoned black and white flannel overtop. When he presented the outfit, Ned gave him a thumbs-up, and MJ deemed it “acceptably unprovocative”.

* * *

Step Four. Dawn of the final day. As they separately performed their morning routines, Peter and Connor regarded each other with fleeting looks, and danced around each other awkwardly all the way to school.

They’d kept their distance from each other for most of the week, frankly. Not enough for there to be tension, but in between the time of committing to the date and the actual day, their living arrangement had descended into a strange limbo state where nothing was different, and yet _everything_ was. Peter suspected Connor felt it too.

But, it was only temporary. For better or worse, Friday had arrived, and Peter was still looking forward to it.

When they reached school, Connor stopped Peter before his first class.

“How do we do this? Should...should we go there together, or meet up there?”

“Meet up,” Peter decided after a moment’s thought.

He seemed pleased by this answer. “Okay. Well...I’ll see you at lunch, and then...tonight, I guess.”

Peter swallowed to calm the butterflies in his stomach, nodded yes, and hurried off to class.

Lunch, predictably, was completely insufferable thanks to MJ and Ned. Despite being genuinely happy and supportive, they were also _merciless._ At one point Connor excused himself to use the restroom, and MJ immediately pounced.

“So, loverboy, you ready?”

Peter glowered at her. “I’m ignoring you.”

“More powerful men than you have tried,” she said smugly, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. “You gonna sit on the Ferris Wheel and do the old yawn and stretch move?”

Ned paused in the process of peeling an orange. “MJ, that’s so cliche.”

“It is,” she agreed. “But it’s primarily a _heterosexual_ cliche, so I’m gonna rub my gay little hands all over it along with all the other hetero things. Peter should do his part to help.”

“I’m ignoring you,” he repeated, louder this time.

Later, after Connor had returned, and Peter briefly left the table to discard his trash, he returned to find a red-faced Connor, a completely speechless Ned, and MJ howling with laughter.

He decided not to ask.

* * *

Peter had decathlon practice, and MJ wasn’t going to excuse him from it even for a date. By the time he got out of school, it was quarter after four, he had forty-five minutes to meet Connor, and the city doing its damnedest to make him late.

Fortunately, Spider-Man did not have to obey traffic laws.

Luna Park and Deno’s Wonder Wheel Amusement Park contained most of the attractions on Coney Island, and fortunately they were right next to each other. Connor's navigation skills left a lot to be desired, but the directions Peter had provided would hopefully suffice.

When the park came into view, he landed in a nearby alleyway. After making sure he wasn't being watched, Peter quickly changed clothes and all but sprinted toward the front gates, where his date was waiting.

He’d donned a pair of dark jeans, and a white t-shirt that was too tight to have been an coincidental pick. Peter wasn’t going to complain about the view, though he felt layered up in comparison. He also noted, with pleasant surprise, that Connor had not attempted to do something with his hair, opting for the messy look he was fond of.

“Hey,” he said, slowly, as he slowed to a stop. “You...you look nice.”

That earned him a smile. “You too. I wondered if I was overthinking this. Glad to see I wasn’t.”

“Me too, to be honest.”

Silence fell between them, then began stretching on. He should say something.

“Ready to go in?” he asked, gesturing.

Connor nodded, and they passed through the gate. In early November, it wasn’t as busy as the summer months, but still decently crowded. Peter had only been to Coney Island once before, years ago with May and Ben, but the smell of fried food and the roar of the machinery, the flashing lights and hubbub of the crowd...it was as if he’d never left.

Except now he was here, on a date. That was _very_ different.

 _It’s not just a date,_ he told himself as he paid for their tickets. _It’s Connor. You can do this. Just have fun with him._

He grabbed a map from the kiosk as he left, tickets in hand, and asked, “Where do you want to go?”

Connor considered, looking around. “I’m...not sure. There’s a lot. You’ve been here before, right? What do you suggest?”

Peter grinned. “Come with me.”

Their first stop was the Thunderbolt—a tall, compact steel roller coaster with an extremely long and high vertical incline, and several inversions along its track where the occupants were tipped upside down.

“That’s...tall."

“We don’t have to go on, if you’re not a fan of roller coasters,” Peter offered. He’d forgotten that not everyone was an adrenaline junkie.

“I’ve never been on one,” Connor admitted, giving the ride a dubious look. “But I trust you. Let’s go.”

Despite its intimidating height, Peter considered the Thunderbolt to be among the tamer of the park’s coasters. The whole ride lasted less than a minute, but the real appeal was in the G-force—the number of inversions in such a short amount of time made everything inside him feel topsy-turvy. Indeed, when they departed, his legs felt like jelly.

“Whoa,” Connor exhaled loudly, leaning against the outside wall of the ride. “I _definitely_ like roller coasters!”

“Be careful, or you’ll convince me to take you on the Cyclone,” Peter warned good-naturedly.

His eyes gleamed eagerly. “What’s that?”

“The oldest roller coaster in the world. You’ll see. But for now...”

Something behind Connor caught his eye and Peter, much to his joy, discovered that the Tilt-A-Whirl from his youth was _still_ operational.

“Let’s do this one next!”

The ride itself was simple in its design. The Tilt-A-Whirl’s cars were all positioned on the same track, which moved them in a circle. The cars were hollow half-cylinders which seats lining the inner perimeter, and could hold up to four people.

“There’s a pivot point under the floor,” he explained gleefully, as they climbed inside their car. “The track is uneven, it rises and falls to give the car inertia, and that makes it spin on the pivot while going in a circle, so it’s like a _double_ spin. Here, you sit over there.”

They took their seats opposite each other on the curved, circular bench. As the cars began to turn, Peter took careful note of the dips in the track and the frequency of their revolution.

“This isn’t moving a whole lot,” Connor pointed out, curiously peering at the roof above him. “Is it broken?”

“No, it’s all about your weight and applying physics,” he replied as they completed one circuit. “When I say, shift over toward me.”

“Huh?”

Their car dipped down on an incline, and Peter yelled, “Now!”

Connor lunged toward the middle seat of the car—which immediately accelerated on its pivot and spun like an out-of-control top. He crashed into Peter, who caught him on instinct, and was suddenly very aware of their proximity and the g-force briefly preventing them from separating.

“Uh,” he said intelligently, as the other boy laughed in his ear.

Their car slowed, and Connor scrambled to the other end of the car, lost in the excitement of it. “Your turn!”

 _Well,_ Peter thought as they neared another incline, _it would be rude to refuse._

The Tilt-A-Whirl seemed to be his favorite, and he had to admit, with the added bonus of throwing themselves into the other’s arms, it was pretty damn great. Still, eventually they needed a break.

“I can’t walk straight,” Connor said proudly, weaving drunkenly ahead. “That was awesome!”

“Wait up!” Peter called, staggering after him. They made a crooked beeline toward a nearby bench collapsed onto it, laughing.

“So, can we do this Cyclone thing?”

“Later! We gotta do that and the Wonder Wheel at the end,” he explained. “It’s a proper end to a night in the park.”

“Okay,” Connor relented. He glancing around, nostrils flaring. “Something smells good.”

Peter perked up. “Ever had funnel cake?”

* * *

After properly introducing him to crunchy, fried, doughy goodness, he took Connor to the other end of the park, where the arcades and prize games were.

“These cost actual money, the tickets don’t apply to them,” he explained as they weaved between a cluster of families who were mulling about.

Connor hummed in response, his eyes scanning the assortment of challenges.

While they walked, it occurred to him that, while there had been hyper-sensitive contact and blushing between the two, thus far there was little that distinguished them from a pair of friends. And hadn’t the whole purpose of this been to...move beyond friendship?

Connor’s arms hung limply by his sides as he walked. Peter could, theoretically, reach out and hold his hand.

He also could, theoretically, douse himself in gasoline and set himself on fire, but that idea seemed equally insane.

 _Screw it,_ he decided. His brain could pick literally anything to be anxious about, but he’d chosen to go out tonight with intentions, and he wasn’t gonna let anything stop him.

However, just as he made to reach out, Connor abruptly stopped in his tracks. Peter ran his hand through his own hair instead, an attempt to subtly play off his movement which failed miserably. Fortunately, Connor didn’t notice—he was too busy staring at the very large tent in front of them. More specifically, his eyes were glued to the game’s top prize of one _massive_ stuffed Siberian Husky, which was easily as big as his entire body. There were several other prizes, many of them replicas of the Avengers, but it was the dog that had snagged his attention.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “I...I need it.”

Peter remembered that he really, _really_ loved dogs. “Let’s go in,” he suggested.

That earned him an adorably wide-eyed look. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Swallowing another flutter of nerves, he took Connor’s hand—hoping his palms weren’t sweaty—and pulled him gently toward the entrance.

The tent was one of the largest within the park, and inside it were three attractions Peter recognized instantly. The first was the classic strongman game, with a mallet and a tall scale, ubiquitous to every carnival. The second was a series of rope ladders which were almost parallel with the ground, but rose ever so slightly on an incline until they connected to a high wall. There was a slide on the other end of the wall, which pointed in the direction of a box with two doorways, side-by-side each other.

The games seemed simple enough, but there was something slightly odd about this setup. It took Peter a moment before he realized that they were positioned one after another, like an obstacle course spanning the whole length of the tent. Upon closer inspection, the interior of the tent was lined with copies of the Avengers logo. It looked like it had seen slightly better days.

There was a small crowd of patrons by the first game, their attention focused on the woman who was evidently in charge. She had blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, and wore the a blue shirt that said PARK STAFF on the front. There was also a stopwatch hanging from a cord around her neck.

“Step right up!” she was calling, loudly. “Think you have what it takes to be an Avenger? I’m Carly, and I’ll be the judge of that! Prove yourself right here!”

Peter exchanged a look with Connor, who smirked.

“Complete my tests, and walk away with two prizes of your choosing!” Carly continued as they approached. “Ten dollars per person, one try per turn!”

“I want to try,” Connor said to Peter. “Do you?”

Peter shook his head. He wouldn’t deny that his inner fanboy was _loving_ this, and it was an amusing challenge, but...he had Iron Man on speed dial, and an actual compound to go to.

The rest of the crowd did not share Connor’s enthusiasm—Peter noticed some of them looked put out, as if they had already attempted and lost.

“No one has ever won this course! You could be the first!”

At that enticing tidbit, and Peter withdrew a ten dollar bill from his pocket and offered it. “I’ll cheer you on. And don’t ask me if I’m sure, because I am,” he added, when Connor opened his mouth.

His smile stirred up the butterflies in Peter’s stomach, as he took the bill and squeezed his way through the crowd.

“I’ll try!” he announced, thrusting out the money.

Carly snatched it up with all the humility of a magpie. “Excellent! The rules are simple. You get one try, and no do-overs. This means you have to win all the games on your first try, because the Avengers only accept the best! Got it?”

Connor nodded. Peter shuffled his way through the crowd of onlookers, trying to get a closer look.

“Alright!” Carly spun in place, gesturing to the strongman game. “The first is a test of strength! You have to be big and tough, like Thor or the Hulk, if you want to join the team! This game is called a High Striker. See that mallet?” She pointed at the object lying on the ground near a red X, just in front of a target lying on the ground. “You stand on that X, and you hit the target as hard as you can! If the puck hits the bell at the top of the tower, you win! Are you ready?”

He didn’t hear Connor’s response, but watched him walk over to the X and heft up the mallet.

“Oh! Looks a little heavy for you there!” Carly teased, winking at the crowd. “Think you can handle it?”

Peter knew it was mostly for show—these kinds of games were meant to entice and provoke people into challenging—but he still grinned when Connor turned his back on her and squared his shoulders. He took two deep breaths, then swung the mallet. It struck the target dead center, a perfect hit. The puck shot up the length of the tower, striking the bell with a loud ring, and Peter cheered with the crowd.

“Well done!” Carly congratulated, beckoning him forward. “You’ve passed the first challenge! Onward to the next!”

She led Connor around the strongman game and toward the ladders, the audience in tow. The ladders were of simple wood and rope construction, and the ends of them were fixed in a single point, one anchored to the ground and the other anchored to the top of the wall.

“On to the second trial! The Avengers also need you to be quick and agile, lightning-fast like Hawkeye and Black Widow!” Carly gestured to the ladders. “Just as these super spies scurry from rooftop to rooftop, you need to climb up this ladder! Sound simple, right? Well, don’t get your hopes up! This challenge is timed. You’ll need incredible balance in order to complete this test in thirty seconds or less!”

“I’m ready."

“They all say that,” Carly stage-whispered to the crowd. A few people laughed politely. “Alright! I’ll hold the ladder steady while you get on. You can begin whenever you’re ready!”

She knelt down, gripping the knot and the peg that held it in the dirt, allowing Connor to climb on.

Peter vaguely remembered Ben explaining this trick to him once. The ladder climb was difficult because of the single knot on each end. This meant that when you tried to climb the ladder traditionally, each time a rung was grabbed it added weight and pressure to one side, deliberately unbalancing it. The trick was to shimmy up the ladder by its ropes and ignore the wooden rungs altogether.

As Connor began to climb, Peter could see that he didn’t know that trick. He teetered precariously with each step, but it was too late to stop and adjust—Carly’s stopwatch was already ticking. The further along he got, the more unsteady his movements became, but his eyes were narrowed in focused determination.

“Ten seconds!” Carly called, as he reached the steepest part of the incline. He made for the next rung, only to miss and fumble, catching the rope instead. The crowd murmured, but when he didn’t wobble as much as he’d expected, they quieted down. Peter could see him taking in this new development, adjusting his points of contact to the ropes instead—

Carly made an extremely minute gesture, and the ladder gave an almighty tremble. Connor flailed, his center of balance thrown off, and then he tumbled to the ground.

The crowd let out sympathetic applause, while Carly grinned. “Oh! Guess you had a case of the old beginner’s luck, my friend! But as you can see, you can’t get by on our strength alone!”

She stood up, dusting off her hands, oblivious to Peter’s glare.

Her movement had been so small and insignificant, that with everyone’s attention trained on Connor, no one else had noticed. But she couldn’t hide from his enhanced senses.

She had pulled a loose end of the knot, tightening it. The vibration traveled up the length of the ladder and threw Connor off. She was _cheating._

Suddenly the odd trio of games and the disproportionate number of losers among the crowd made sense—the whole thing was a _con._ A series of impossible challenges, rigged so that Carly wouldn’t have to ever give anything to a winner.

Connor picked himself up off the ground. He looked crestfallen, but accepted his loss quietly, thanking Carly for the game, unaware of what had really happened.

“Well, I tried,” he said as he approached Peter, while the crowd around them began to disperse. “That sucked...should we go see what else there is? Maybe there’s an easier game out there.” He paused, studying Peter’s face. “Are you okay?”

“In a few minutes, I’ll be great,” he replied, fishing another ten out of his pocket. “Just hold on. I’m having a turn.” Then he walked around Connor, approaching Carly.

He knew two things: one, he didn’t like cheaters, or bullies. These kinds of games weren’t always endorsed and funded by the park staff, they were privately owned and operated on the park’s property. It reflected Carly’s poor sportsmanship, not the institution’s.

Two, Connor was going to walk away with that dog.

“Excuse me,” he said, forcing himself to sound excited, rather than annoyed. “Can I have a go?”

She eyed him first, then Connor in the distance. Her smile was all teeth. “Friend of yours?”

“Something like that.” He held out the money. “Yes or no?”

She contemplated for half a second, then took the payment. “Alright, looks like the Avengers have another potential recruit!”

She led them back to the first game. Some of the crowd began to return, curious.

“I assume you’re familiar with the rules,” she said flippantly, examining her fingernails. “Sure you can do it, kid?”

“I’m stronger than I look.” To demonstrate, Peter lifted the mallet. It barely weighed anything to him.

“Alright, well, whenever you’re—”

Impatient, he swung the mallet into the target. Ever since his fight with Hammerhead, he’d gotten better about letting his strength out. The puck shot up as if fired from a cannon, striking the bell with a loud, echoing _gong_ that resounded throughout the whole tent.

“—ready,” Carly finished, her showman’s bravado faltering for a moment.

Peter dropped the mallet. “Next one is the ladder climb, right?”

Carly was looking at him now with open dislike. Her back was to the re-gathering audience, so they couldn’t see, and her voice remained chipper and upbeat. “Sure, kid! Let’s go.”

Connor fell into step beside him as he walked. “What are you doing?” he asked in a low voice.

“She’s cheating,” he whispered back. “You should have won.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise, and he said nothing as he stopped to linger with the crowd around the second game, but there was a slight hint of approval coming from a few of them.

“You’re strong, but are you fast?” Carly knelt down to hold onto the rope knot. “Let me get this for you.”

“Thank you very much,” Peter replied icily as he got into a starting position at the ladder's base.

“Clock starts when you do. Thirty seconds!”

He climbed, gripping the ropes and ignoring the ladder’s rungs entirely. There was a tiny, unashamed part of him that was loving this, and not just because he wasn’t going to cheat the cheater. He could vertically scale glass, a sheer surface. A little rope ladder was nothing, no matter how much she shook it.

Sure enough, he was hardly a third of the way up the ladder when he felt the tremor. Carly was pulling at the knot, trying to unbalance him. Even scaling the sides, his balance wasn’t perfect, and with his next step the ladder bucked wildly. Still, his grip remained stubbornly, effortlessly strong, and he continued climbing.

“Congratulations!” Carly called out as he dismounted the ladder, atop the wall. “And with ten seconds to spare, too. On to the last trial.”

The crowd began to cheer, and Peter glanced out at the onlookers. Connor was clapping and beaming. Despite petty frustration over the cheating, he allowed himself to enjoy the victory. It was still a game, after all.

Emboldened by his success, he winked at Connor before sliding down to meet Carly at the bottom.

“Excellent job,” she told him through gritted teeth, before slipping back into her role as an entertainer. “And now, your final task! This is a game which challenges your mind and memory! You are strong, and fast, but can you use those gifts wisely? Can you be as brilliant as Iron Man, or as strategic as Captain America?”

She gestured to the box before them. “Inside is a maze of mirrors, and you must complete it within five minutes. Enter the door on the left, exit the door on the right.”

“A maze?” Peter asked dubiously, raising one eyebrow at her. “No tricks?”

Once again, her expression soured, but her voice did not change. “No tricks! To prove it, I will demonstrate.”

She walked through the left-side door, leaving Peter alone. Not two minutes later, she emerged from the other doorway.

“I have the route memorized, of course,” she said, letting a bit of smugness into her voice. “The amount of times I have gotten lost in there while performing maintenance!”

Again, polite laughter filled the tent. Peter shrugged. “Alright. Whenever you’re ready, Carly.”

Instead of replying, she grabbed the stopwatch around her neck and clicked it. “Go!”

He dashed off, slipping through the entrance. Instantly, his spider-sense flared, and he turned left to avoid running into a mirror. The path he ran down opened up into an intersection, offering three new paths.

“Okay,” he murmured, shuffling his feet along with all the other Peters around him. “Let’s see...”

There _was_ a solution, that much was clear. He couldn’t climb over the walls—the mirrors stretched all the way up to the ceiling. This would have to be done the old-fashioned way.

Unless…

Beneath his feet was grass and earth. Peter knelt down and ripped up great big handfuls, until he had a bare patch of dirt the size of a basketball in front of him.

His spider sense could tell him which paths were real and which ones were actually mirrors he would run smack into. All he had to do was mark the routes he’d already taken.

He sprinted down the path straight ahead. From there, it was a simple process of elimination—each time he came to a branch in the path, he made another dirt spot on the ground.

It was tedious work, and would not have been possible if he wasn’t superhuman. He wasn’t exactly sure how much time had passed, but Carly wasn't squawking outside, so he had to assume he was still safe.

When he started coming across dirt spots he’d made already, Peter knew he’d plotted the whole maze. It wasn’t perfect, but he’d drawn himself a rough map of the maze in his head, and he had enough of it memorized to know that he should have discovered the exit by now.

Something didn't make sense. There was an entire section of the maze, near the exit, that was missing. He backtracked his way to the first intersection he’d encountered and, rather than trying to follow a path, he entered the corridor that led back to the entrance.

“There has to be a way...” he murmured, running his hands along either side of the narrow hall.

Then, after a few more steps, his left hand brushed an indentation. There was a thin, almost imperceptible groove in the glass wall, impossible to find unless you already knew it was there.

He ran his hands along the groove, tracing its length. It was large, boxy…

“Please be a secret door, please be a secret door.” He gave it little push, and the mirror slid in at his touch. “Yay!”

The false wall swung open, revealing a long, unbroken hall that curved right, and Peter knew he’d found the right path. He should have guessed Carly had rigged the maze too.

He could hear her voice before he’d turned the corner.

“Twenty seconds left, folks...”

“Time!” he yelled, running out of the maze’s exit, and the crowd gave their loudest cheer yet.

Peter approached Carly, who seemed unable to form words. The smug expression on her face had melted off like hot wax.

“I won, right? With twenty seconds left?”

She nodded, dumbfounded. “You...you win.” Her face broke into an insincere smile. “Con...congratulations! You are the first ever winner of my trials!”

As the crowd began to trickle out of the tent, and Connor approached them, Peter dropped his voice to a lower volume. “Between you and me, Carly,” he said, “I’d rethink your business model. You never know who’ll come along to try it...or come back for another round.”

Her lip curled. “Just take your prizes and get out, kid.”

* * *

“I can’t believe that,” Connor laughed, awestruck, as they left the tent with their spoils. “That was incredible!”

Peter smiled, tucking his four-foot-tall Iron Man plush under his arm. “Yeah, I...I might have gotten a bit carried away.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining. It sucks that she was cheating people, but maybe she’ll learn her lesson now,” Connor remarked. In a completely unsurprising move, he had decided on the gigantic life-size Husky, and had it slung over his shoulders in a fireman's carry. “Look at you, taking on bad guys of all shapes and sizes.”

“It...wasn’t just about that,” he admitted. “I mean...I wanted you to get your dog.”

“Oh,” Connor said in a small voice. His cheeks were pink. “Yeah...thank you.”

Silence fell between them for a moment. Peter floundered for something else to say.

“Are you hungry? It’s almost dinner time.”

“Honestly, not really,” Connor admitted. “There’s still so much of the park left. Plus, I don’t know how much money you have left, but we both know I don’t have any.”

He had a point. There were always leftovers at home. “So, what’s next?”

Connor considered. “Do another loop of the park, then the grand finale you mentioned?”

“We really can’t take the toys on the Cyclone. But I think they’ll let us on the Wonder Wheel with them.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They took their time winding through the park, trying their hand at a few various games, but without much gusto. They had already obtained their most valuable prizes, and were reluctant to part with them for the sake of the more high-octane rides. As the day began to wear on, more and more games began to close up, and eventually the two had to admit that they had exhausted the rest of their funds and their time. By the time they approached the Wonder Wheel, the cold and the setting sun had driven many of the park’s guests away, so they were able to get out of the ride’s fewer outer cars. Most of the cars spun in the middle of the wheel, unlike a traditional Ferris Wheel.

“This thing is big,” Connor noted, as they climbed inside their car. “Like, I knew it was big, but...it’s actually _big,_ y’know?”

“Too high?” Peter asked, settling into the seat opposite him.

“No, I’m fine with heights.”

As they rose into the air, he glanced out at the beach. It wasn’t too far from here, over a year ago, he’d faced down Toomes among the burning debris of the Stark Industries plane. After Hammerhead, Negative, the brush with the Inner Demons...that felt like a lifetime ago.

“Peter?”

He looked away from the view, back at Connor. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Just...thinking.” When Connor said nothing, waiting for him to continue, he obliged. “The last time I was here when was when I fought Toomes—the Vulture. We had it out on that beach.”

Connor frowned. “Is it difficult, being back here?”

“No,” he replied truthfully. “Honestly...I like making better memories of this place.”

Connor bit his lip and looked down.

“This is all so bizarre for me,” he confessed. “And _you’re_ so bizarre.”

He laughed awkwardly. “Thanks?”

“I—I mean,” Connor hurried to explain, talking in nervous fragments. “I’m not used to...feeling normal. I’m sure you can appreciate that. But this was...something I never quite expected. Being free. Having friends. Being here. You. You treat me...like a normal person.”

“Is that so bad?”

He shook his head. “Unfamiliar, but no, not bad. Logically, I know my bar shouldn’t be set so low, but it is. You’ve done so much for me, Peter, and I...I really don’t have anything to pay you back for it.”

A cold knot of uncertainty formed in his stomach. “Is that why you said yes when I asked you out? Repayment?”

“No!” Connor looked horrified. “God, no. Ugh, I’m bad at this. I’m basically trying to say the _opposite_ of that.” He rubbed his forehead. “What I’m _trying_ to say is, I know that you wouldn’t want me to think of it that way. That your kindness isn’t some debt I have to settle. Right?”

Peter nodded. If Connor wanted to thank him, the best way he could do that was by being happy.

“Right, because you’re annoyingly selfless.” He was smirking now. “You’d...you’d just want me to be happy, . And I am, I’m happy when I’m with you. So…” He shrugged, gesturing to the both of them. “This is me, going out with you, but not doing it _for_ you. I’m doing it for me.”

“Oh,” he said, eloquent as ever. “Um. That’s. Good?”

“It _is_ good.” Connor reached out and took Peter’s free hand that wasn’t clutching his prize.

“For the record,” Peter said, his fingers burning against the other boy’s. “I have no idea what I’m doing. Like, at all. I’ve hardly any relationship experience with girls, and I’ve never dated, been with, a guy. Ever.”

“Well, I’m not running away,” Connor teased.

“We’re on the Wonder Wheel. You have nowhere to go.”

They broke into laughter at that.

Connor’s thumb rubbed Peter’s knuckles. “It’s not like I have any experience either,” he said. “So...we’ll figure it out together.”

Peter smiled. “Yeah.”

Connor cleared his throat. “This is a weird question, but...can I read you?”

“Like...” Peter jerked his head at their hands, and Connor nodded.

“I know I’ve done it to you before, on accident. I’m sorry about that. My powers have only ever been a tool, or a means to an end for me, and sometimes they are difficult to control. But y’know, I’m changing, so maybe they can change too. Maybe they can be something different to me. But only if you’re okay with it.”

Peter considered. What did he have to lose? It meant more that Connor had asked his permission than anything else. He had nothing to hide.

“Okay.”

Together, they closed their eyes. An electric current rippled through the nerves in Peter's hand, where Connor's skin touched his. The other two times he'd been read the sensation stopped there and he felt nothing. This time, something made contact. A presence composed purely of light reached out and _touched_ him, right in a center deep inside his being.

 _Let me in,_ it seemed to ask, and Peter did.

The cascade of emotions that followed was completely unexpected. He felt things that didn't belong to him—surprise, fear, and then panic, which slowly ebbed as the light shrunk away. It seemed equally caught off-guard by the vulnerable insight it had given Peter.

 _It’s okay,_ he said. _Come back._

Slowly, it returned, probing and concerned but more brazen this time. It was warm and gentle, as inviting as the sun on a lazy day. Peter focused on the comfort it gave him, smiling as he opened up to Connor, letting him feel everything from him in return.

For several minutes, they revelled in each other, enjoying the newfound closeness and basking in the union of...their souls? Neither were entirely sure. When Connor’s presence eventually retreated and they opened their eyes, he didn’t let go of Peter’s hand.

“That was new,” he murmured, sounding a little awestruck. “I...I’ve never read anyone like that before."

"It doesn't always feel like that?"

"No. Usually, if I did feel someone, it was to interrogate on Negative’s orders, or because I was hurt and needed to siphon their strength to recover. My power has never been accepted willingly, and the only thing I experience is the person's pain, their fear, sadness, or anger. Take your pick. And they _never_ were able to communicate with me like that. But you...” Connor glanced down at their hands, a tiny smile on his face. “That was nice.”

Silence fell, leaving Peter to his thoughts. He hadn’t realized how close the two of them were.

 _Maybe this is the moment,_ he thought. _Should I kiss him?_

But the night was still young, and he liked the feeling of Connor’s hand in his. So instead he did nothing. The Wonder Wheel continued to turn, the neon lights washing over them rhythmically, and the night hummed with all that was unsaid, but not unknown, between them.

* * *

They made their way back to the apartment after that. It was a long trek from the Coney Island back home, but Peter had his MetroCard, so they took the train again. When they reached the apartment, Connor stopped him outside the door.

“So does May know?” he asked. “That this was a date.”

Peter shook his head. “I didn’t tell her. Did you?”

“No. I wasn’t sure. I don’t mind if you want to keep it a secret.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell her, I just...told a lot of people very quickly and kind of burned myself out,” he admitted. “I’ll tell her, just not tonight. And I still have to tell To—Mr. Stark.”

Connor bit his lip, dropping his gaze to the floor. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

"We'll figure that out."

Even as he said it, the words felt a little empty. He knew that Tony, for all his generosity and second chances, had not forgotten where Connor came from. He'd accepted Peter's coming out effortlessly, but getting involved with a former Inner Demon probably wouldn't fly with him. At least, not right now. In time, when Peter felt reasonably sure he wouldn't blast Connor into space for it, they'd tell him.

If Connor heard the same tone in his voice, he did not show it. Instead, he smiled. “Alright. By the way, Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“In case it’s unclear, this was a really good first date.”

 _Okay, if there was gonna be any signal tonight, that was it!_ his brain supplied enthusiastically. _Kiss him!_

Peter chewed the inside of his cheek. “Um...” Should he just go for it?

Fortunately his date seemed to have an inkling of what was running through his head, because he stepped closer, and leaned in a litte. Shyly, Peter moved to meet him in the middle—

The front door flew open, and both boys jumped apart like repelling magnets.

“—no, he's not...oh!” May smiled at them, apparently oblivious to what she had almost walked in on. “Actually, here he is, just getting home. Peter, Tony is on the phone for you.”

“Okay,” he said weakly, while Connor hurried inside the apartment, red-faced and muttering something about an early bedtime. He followed, May handing over the phone and shutting the door behind him as he went. “Mr. Stark?”

_“It's Tony, Pete, remember? Are you painting the town red? I tried your cell, but no answer.”_

“Oh.” In all his concentration on the night, he hadn't even noticed. “Sorry. I was...what's up?”

 _“I’m just calling to let you know that I’ve gotta leave town for a few days. There’s some big developments going on at Stark Industries HQ on the west coast, and according to Pepper I have to be there for all of the meetings. Every single one.”_ He groaned exaggeratedly. _“So this is me, telling you, to keep doing what you’re doing, which is being absolutely chill and not fighting any other super-powered gangsters. Capiche?”_

That was easy enough, though he felt bad at being so oblivious to his phone that Tony had had to call the apartment. “Capiche. Sorry again for missing you. I was out at Coney Island."

_"Yeah, May mentioned! Sounds like a good time. You went with Leeds and that girl with the curly hair, right? What's her name, Michelle? Did you have fun?"_

"MJ," he corrected automatically. "Um, actually, they weren't there. I just went with Connor."

 _"Oh."_ Tony faltered on the other end, then fell silent.

The change in mood was immediate, and enough to set Peter's nerves aflutter. Desperate to salvage something from the awkward turn things had taken, he added, "I did have fun though. There was an Avengers-themed obstacle course. It was totally rigged, but I beat it anyway. Connor got a stuffed dog, and I got a—"

 _"Shit, kid, I gotta cut this short,"_ Tony interrupted. He could hear rustling from the other end of the line. _"Sorry, but I'm gonna miss my flight. If that happens, then I have to catch up to the plane in my suit, and that's always so awkward…"_

He _sounded_ genuine, but the abrupt end to the conversation made Peter's insides twinge. "Sure. No problem."

 _“You okay? You sound a little strained."_ The frown was evident in Tony's voice.

“Yeah, I’m okay, just...tired.”

_“Alright, well, get some sleep. See you in a few days.”_

“Sure. See you.”

He ended the call and put the phone down.

After their almost-kiss, the prospect of being alone with Connor was a lot scarier than it had been outside the apartment. He took his time retreating to the bedroom, entertaining May with his Iron Man plush and a trimmed down recount of the night. But when he ran out of material, he accepted his fate.

Connor was lying on his side in the bottom bunk, facing the wall. He had the stuffed Husky lying next to him like a large, dog-shaped body pillow. Unsure of what to say, or even if he was awake, Peter opted to dress for bed and climb into the top bunk without a word. Instead of falling asleep, he simply laid on his back and stared at the ceiling.

No kiss wasn’t the _worst_ thing in the world, but he’d been building himself up to it, and to mess up the best possible ending to a good date had taken the wind from his sails. Maybe, if he were lucky, it would become an awkward situation for him and Connor to laugh about in the future, possibly as early as tomorrow…

“Peter?”

He sat up, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Look down.”

After a moment's hesitation, Peter effortlessly flipped himself over the guardrail of the bunk, hanging inverted from the bars so he could get a look at Connor and address him properly. He got brief glimpse of him, upright and very much _not_ asleep—

Then Connor’s lips met his, and Peter almost lost the grip on the bed. They were softer than he expected, and the contour of his mouth was difficult to match at this angle. Despite this and his shock, however, he was able to adjust his position and happily return the kiss. One of Connor’s hands came up to brush the side of his face, and Peter found himself leaning into the touch.

It was an upside-down kiss. It was awkward and probably hilarious to watch, but it was their first, so it was the best kiss Peter had ever had.

Then Connor pulled away, gazing at him shyly. “I...didn’t want to end tonight without that.”

“Uh,” he responded, a smile slowly extending across his face. “Me neither. Good call.” His head was starting to pound with all the blood rushing to it. “I’m gonna...” He gestured at the ceiling.

“Me too,” the other boy said. Then, with fondness: “Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight, Connor.”

He pulled himself up to the top bunk, grinning like a loon, and pulled the covers around him. Euphoria bloomed within him, electrifying his body, and sleep took hours to come to him. When he finally drifted off he dreamed of carnival lights, funnel cake, and Connor's lips on his, all on an endless loop until morning came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so falls Carly, the True Evil of this fic. May she never return.
> 
> I couldn't resist Peter quoting Tony, nor could I resist paying homage to the classic Spider-Man kiss in my own way.
> 
> We've reached about midway through the fic. Now that time has been taken to establish Peter and Connor, it's time for the plot to swing back into motion. Have no fear, I'm not throwing the boys to the wolves, but we've still got roughly another 50k of content to go before the end. It can't all be sunshine and roses. I do, however, promise some more funny and fluff in the upcoming chapters.
> 
> See you Monday!


	12. Best Day Of My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter returns to Midtown after the weekend, and is met by an unwelcome guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Best Day Of My Life" by American Authors.
> 
> Chapter warnings: none!
> 
> Here there be plot! This is still a pretty light chapter, though.

Despite Friday’s rousing success, the weekend passed with little excitement. It was May's weekend off from work, so her presence forced the boys outside if they wanted time to themselves. Peter wasn’t afraid to come out to her anymore, but he was _much_ more interested in spending time with Connor than he was in telling his aunt about this new development and enduring what would undoubtedly be the world’s most embarrassing Sex Talk.

To him, this was a perfectly natural bias to have.

However, whenever they _did_ return home, they were restricted to furtive glances and brushing hands, which Peter _also_ thought should be filed under the category of unjustly cruel torture.

When he woke up and found May having left early for work, he had never been so excited for a Monday morning in his life.

“Connor!” he said loudly, jumping down from the top bunk. “Wake up!”

The suspiciously Connor-sized lump on the bed’s bottom bunk let out a groggy groan.

“It’s Monday! We have to go to school,” Peter prodded, already changing into his day clothes. The blankets shifted slightly, revealing mess of tangled bedhead and half-lidded eyes.

“You know,” Connor mumbled, yawning. “I think I took the homeless life for granted. There’s no school on the streets, and you wake up when you want to. Maybe I didn’t have it so bad after all.”

Peter rolled his eyes and yanked the covers away, eliciting a shriek from beneath them. “Rise and shine!”

“Why are you so chipper?” he groaned, rolling off the mattress and onto the floor with all the grace of a slug. “And what do I get out of getting up?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Peter called as he left the room. While walking to the kitchen, his ears picked up the sounds of Connor moving about and grumbling about “his stupid face”.

Eventually, after properly rousing themselves and getting ready to face the day, they began their journey to school. Already Peter was noticing a difference in their interactions, compared to the previous week—he held Connor’s hand on the whole walk to the station, and once on the train Connor rested his head on Peter’s shoulder. As they rode in companionable silence, Peter found himself once again pondering something that had been on his mind since Friday.

“Are we boyfriends?”

That was met with a snort. “Um.” Connor lifted his head up to properly look at Peter. He seemed torn between amusement and mortification. “I think so?”

“I’ve just been thinking about labels,” Peter confessed, shrugging.

“Well,” Connor said slowly, after a lengthy pause. "Normally, I feel like I ought to tell you that labels are dumb and not something to focus on. But...to be totally honest, that’s a label I really, really want.”

Peter felt another surge of euphoria run through him, not unlike the one from when Connor had kissed him. “Well, we never exactly...hashed out what _we_ are this weekend, other than the fact that neither of us know what we’re doing. But I’m...not really a casual kind of person.” He bit his lip. “So, boyfriends?”

A faint patina of pink spread across Connor’s cheeks. “Boyfriends,” he agreed, resting his head back on Peter’s shoulder.

The train began to slow as they neared the next stop, and Peter settled into his seat, silently turning the word over in his mind.

_Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend._

_I have a boyfriend._

He liked the sound of it.

* * *

Morning classes passed by uneventfully. When they met up outside the cafeteria for lunch, Peter slipped his hand into Connor’s without a second thought.

“You’re sure?” he asked, glancing dubiously st the students around them.

“Yeah,” Peter replied truthfully. He was no stranger to bullies, and had been developing an immunity to them since long before the spider bite. Midtown students weren’t _known_ for being grossly intolerant, but there were always outliers. Still, he felt prepared to handle whatever came their way. Besides, he already kept one big secret, he didn't feel like shouldering another.

They entered the cafeteria and took their seats at the usual table, where Ned and MJ were already waiting for them.

“Aw, look at you,” MJ cooed, eyeing their interlocked fingers. "Disgusting. I’m gonna puke.”

“Hello to you too,” Connor said, slightly flustered, while Peter laughed. He passed grabbed their lunches from his backpack, and the two of them began to eat.

“Just so you know, there is currently a betting pool on whether or not Liz scared you into dudes.” MJ’s eyes were glinting with amusement. “There’s _also_ rumors that Connor did a stint in juvie and is out on parole.”

“Wait, really?” Peter asked, while his boyfriend choked on a potato chip.

_“What?”_

“You _do_ kinda look like the delinquent type,” Ned pointed out. “You wear a lot of black.” He flashed a them a grin.

“I mean, delinquent's kinda a tame word for it, but they're not exactly _wrong._ I'm just offended they think I got caught.”

MJ cackled at that, but then calmed herself and gave him her full attention. "So, Parker didn’t tell us anything other than that it went well. It's up to you to give us the deets.”

Connor glanced at Peter, who shrugged.

“Alright, well...”

* * *

When the bell rang for the final class of the day, Peter and Ned’s teacher surprised them with direction to the school’s auditorium instead.

“An assembly?” Ned wondered aloud as they took their seats, near the back. “The whole school’s here. What’s going on?”

Peter caught a glimpse of MJ’s curly hair a few rows ahead of him, and Flash a few columns away from her, but he didn’t see any sign of Connor. He wasn’t _technically_ a student of the school yet, so likely he was exempt from whatever this was.

Principal Morita walked on-stage, and the chatter from students died down gradually.

“Hello, students,” he greeted, straightening his tie. “We’ve called this assembly here because Midtown has received a very special guest, who is taking time out of his busy schedule to talk to you about something that is very important to him. I’m sure you’re all itching to get through this last hour of the day, so to get you out of here on time, I’ll turn the floor over to him without further ado.”

He stepped aside. A second man, clad in a black-and-white suit, stepped in front of the microphone. Instantly, Peter’s blood froze in his veins.

_It was Martin Li._

“Thank you, Principal Morita,” he said, clearing his throat before addressing the students with a smile. “It’s good to be back at Midtown! As some of you may know, I once walked these very halls, though I’m too proud to admit how many years ago that was.” There was a ripple of polite laughter from the staff and some students. “As you know, today is the first of November, and with November comes a lot of preparation for the holiday season. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years...it’s a busy, busy time. We look forward to spending it with our loved ones, the friends and family we cherish more than anything. I wish that this time of year was universally enjoyed, but we all know it is not. Many people in this city, often entire families, struggle to enjoy even the slightest festivities. Parents go to bed hungry so the youngest in their house can eat, while the children dream of even the most basic necessities as luxury gifts they will never have. Each year, F.E.A.S.T. does its part to try and eliminate this struggle, and we will do so once again. But it is a group effort. Midtown has been a reliable supporter of my program in the past, so I am here to call upon the school once again. F.EA.S.T. will be setting up a food drive, and students are encouraged to donate whatever they can. No contribution is too small, and nothing is insignificant.

“We have seen much in the past year,” he continued, folding his hands behind his back as he spoke. “Our streets have been flooded with alien weapons, like those which threatened the lives of this very school’s decathlon team in Washington D.C., just last year. More recently, we've suffered Hammerhead’s gang violence ripping through every corner of the city. I think, as time goes on, the cynics in all of us find more and more reasons to close off our hearts. This world is imperfect, and it is flawed. But now is the season of love, of brotherhood, and I urge all of you to remember the _good_ that we have also seen. Remember your community. Remember F.E.AS.T. and its mission. But above all, if you could pick only one thing, remember Spider-Man.”

Peter started in his seat, shock cascading through him. Ned gave him a concerned glance.

“Spider-Man represents the best of us,” Li said, smiling. "His selflessness, his generosity, all of it without asking anything in return, is the very _definition_ of charity. This city owes so much to him, and he is its heart and soul. As we march on to the holidays, and the new year, I urge you to learn from his example. _Be_ the good you want to see in action.”

He gestured toward Principal Morita. “Your principal will explain more about the drive and its collection times. Whatever the future holds, I wish all of you health and happiness. Thank you.”

The students applauded, but Peter felt too sick to join them. A few weeks ago, he would have been ecstatic and humbled by his words. Except now he knew Martin Li had murdered dozens of the city’s homeless in pursuit of power, and was _responsible_ for half the gang violence pinned on Hammerhead. Instead of facing justice for his crimes he was here, rallying people to support a cause that, for all the good it would do, was engineered by a monster. On top of that, he was _perverting_ Spider-Man, using Peter's superheroing to gain support from the public.

It boiled his blood.

He expected Li to disappear, leave the building, but he stood by Morita's side as the principal explained the details of the food drive. Even when Morita transitioned into general school announcements, Li remained where he was, a perfect picture of innocence.

When the ending bell rang, and Morita dismissed the school, students rose en masse and bolted for the door. The staff followed, trying to heed and calm the excited throng as best they could.

“Too bad Connor wasn't here to see this,” Ned remarked obliviously. “He'd probably like the idea of a food drive.”

 _Connor._ He nearly tripped over his own feet in the process of slinging on his backpack. They always met at the school's front doors at the end of the day. And the front doors were right next to the auditorium.

Peter grabbed his friend's arm, careful to not grip too tightly. “Martin Li _cannot_ see Connor!”

Ned frowned, looking alarmed by his intensity. “What?”

“Li is Negative!” Peter hissed, looking around quickly.

His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and an endless stream of questions threatened to pour from his mouth, so Peter clapped his hand over it. “Later! We have to find Connor, he doesn't know Li is here!”

“Uh, okay. What do we do?”

He wracked his brain for a moment. “The administration office is above us, on the second floor. That’s where he does tutoring. If he hasn’t left there yet, go head him off and keep him away from the front doors.”

Ned nodded, face set in determination, and hurried off toward the west-side stairwell of the school. As he left, Peter scanned the crowd for a familiar face.

Most of the students had left, and he was just starting to think they were in the clear, when two things happened.

One: At the far end of the hall, Connor emerged from the east-side stairwell, spotted him, and waved.

Two: Directly in between the two boys, Principal Morita and Martin Li exited the auditorium, talking quietly amongst themselves.

 _Go!_ Peter mouthed frantically, making a shooing motion with his hands. _Martin Li!_

He only received a confused frown. Meanwhile, Li was shaking hands with Morita, and to his absolute horror, began to turn toward Connor’s direction.

Peter reacted completely on instinct. “Mr. Li!”

Li paused, his attention successfully grabbed. Beyond him, Connor’s face paled.

“Yes?” Li asked, eyebrows slightly raised as Peter scurried towards him and Morita.

 _Think, think!_ “I just...I just wanted to say I really admire this food drive, and what F.E.A.S.T. does,” he said, a little breathlessly. “My aunt talks about you a lot.”

“This is Peter Parker,” Morita said proudly. “One of Midtown’s best and brightest.”

Li’s confusion melted away, and he smiled. “I appreciate that. It’s very nice to meet you.” He stretched out a hand.

There was a moment's hesitation, before realizing he had no choice. Peter clasped back, shaking firmly.

“That’s quite a grip you’ve got there, Mr. Parker,” Li remarked, raising his eyebrows. “Have we met before? You seem familiar. Do you volunteer at one of the shelters?”

 _Crapcrapcrap._ “No,” he replied quickly, letting go. “Just...one of those faces, I guess.”

“I doubt Peter has barely enough time to sleep, with all his extracurriculars,” Morita added good-naturedly. “You know, Martin, he interns at—”

No, no. Talking about Stark Industries was _not_ going to end well. “You said you used to be a student here?”

Li nodded, and Peter had to give him credit for his acting skills. Everything about his body language and his voice was infected with warmth and friendliness, so much that if Peter wasn’t aware of who he really was, he would have believed it all was genuine. “I did. Graduated almost 20 years ago, as valedictorian. Midtown was one of the first institutions to endorse F.E.A.S.T. when the first shelter opened its doors.”

“Even with you running for election, it’s nice to see you haven’t forgotten about the people.” With each praise, Peter swallowed down just a little more bile. “U-um, no offense. You just hear a lot about politicians these days.”

“None taken. I imagine my opponents and critics would see this as me stirring up sympathy votes,” Li replied, glancing between student and principal. “But, you know, leaders are only as good as the people they are in charge of. I would rather lose the election and succeed with the food drive than the other way around.”

Morita chuckled. “Well, it’s not like you _need_ last-minute support. You’ve been the favorite to win for months.”

Li shrugged. “Anything is possible. Speaking of the election, as much as I would like to take a trip down memory lane, I _do_ have pressing matters elsewhere.” He pulled out his cell phone, and glanced at it. “My driver is here. Jim, thank you for having me.”

“It was no trouble. You’re welcome anytime.”

“Of course.” Li’s gaze slid back to him. “I hope to see you again soon, Mr. Parker.”

Peter gave a short nod, never breaking eye contact with him. “Have a good day, sir.”

Then he was off, disappearing through the school’s front doors and out into the daylight.

Peter dared a glance at the stairwell. Connor was gone.

“Parker, while I have you here,” Morita began, catching his ear. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

He fidgeted. He needed to find Connor and make sure he was alright. “Um. Okay?”

Morita smiled. “It’s not a bad talk. More of a...heads-up. You know, my grandfather was one of the Howling Commandos during World War II. He fought alongside Captain America.”

This wasn’t news to him. Morita had volunteered himself as a guest speaker during the WWII portion of his U.S. history class. “Yeah.”

“When I was a boy, my grandfather had a lot of stories about Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. How they fought together, laughed together, had each other’s backs. They were...very close, if you catch my drift.” Morita’s expression changed to something Peter hadn’t seen before—a careful concern, as if he were choosing his words with utmost precision. “Contrary to popular belief, we teachers aren’t deaf to the student gossip. I just wanted to tell you personally that if anyone should give you or your new boyfriend any trouble, I want to know about it.”

“Oh.” Peter paused in the process of inching for the front door. He hadn’t expected _that._ “Um...sure Mr. Morita. Thank you.”

“No problem. Have a good rest of your day,” he said, patting Peter’s shoulder as he passed.

“You too!”

Before anything else could delay him he hurled out the doors, whipping out his cell phone and dialing Ned’s number instantly. He picked up on the second ring. “Ned! Do you know where Connor is?”

_“Yeah, I found him heading back to the administration office. He said you were talking to Li. We went out a side door.”_

He breathed out a sigh of relief, and made his way toward the school gates. “Okay, can you put him on?”

 _“One sec.”_ There was a pause, then Connor’s voice joined the call. _“Peter? You’re on speaker.”_

“Hey. I’m going after Li.”

 _“What?”_ both boys yelped, and he flinched back from his phone.

 _“Dude, is that a good idea?”_ Ned asked.

 _“No, it isn’t!”_ Connor answered before he could reply. _“You told Mr. Stark you weren’t going to do exactly that!”_

“That was before he came into my _school,_ Connor,” Peter argued. He slipped off Midtown’s property and ducked into the nearest alley, slinging off his backpack and digging through it. “All our proof on Li got fried, remember? Mr. Stark also said we’re only gonna win if we do this slow and smart, so we need to gather information on him! I know where he is right now, and he’s not running around as Negative. This is my best chance to spy on him.”

 _“But it's neither slow nor smart,”_ Connor retorted. _“You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you.”_

Peter considered this while he quickly undressed and slipped the suit on, pressing the spider insignia so it contoured to his body. “You don’t have a suit, though. You trashed your Inner Demon getup.”

 _“I’ll figure something out,”_ he replied.

"You can't just throw on a ski mask over your day clothes and call that a suit!"

Quietly, there was a snort from Ned on the other end of the line. _“Dude.”_

Peter groaned loudly.

 _“He’s already run off, man,”_ the other boy replied sympathetically. _“I mean, I can’t really blame him. He’s got just as much reason to go after Negative as you. Maybe more.”_

“I don’t want him to get hurt. Or do something he’ll regret.”

He could hear the frown in Ned's voice. _“If the situation was reversed, would you listen to him? You went after Toomes in sweatpants.”_

Okay, yeah. Peter couldn't really argue that. “I guess not,” he said guiltily.

 _“Right. So, do you need your guy in the chair too?”_ Ned asked, with poorly-disguised eagerness.

“Not sure yet. This is just supposed to be recon. Can you be on standby?”

_“Sure. Stay safe.”_

“You too.” He ended the call and pulled on his mask, then webbed his backpack to the wall of the alley.

As he climbed, the HUD blinked to life, and all functions came online. “Okay, Karen,” he said. “Let’s...”

Almost as soon as he said her name, he remembered she wasn’t with him anymore, and he trailed off. Right. She was still damaged from the Inner Demon attack.

He would have to remember to make Mallen pay for that.

_"Peter Parker?”_

“Gah!” he yelped, nearly losing his grip as a feminine voice flooded his ears. “Friday?”

 _“No,”_ the voice replied, sounding slightly offended. Her accent was vaguely European. Greek? _“My name is Jocasta. Mr. Stark has temporarily installed me into your Spider-Man suit, until Karen is functional again.”_

“Oh.” That made sense, though he’d kinda wished Tony had consulted him before putting someone else into his suit. He pulled himself on top of the building's roof, looking out at the traffic in the street. “So, you can do what Karen does?”

Jocasta let out a noise, and it took him a moment to realize that it was a derisive scoff. _“Somewhat. Karen was specially designed for this suit, and vice versa. I have been modified for optimal performance, but this hardware is too simplistic for someone of my nature.”_

Oh boy. Peter always wondered what made Tony choose Friday to replace Jarvis, out of all his interface programs. He was beginning to find out why. “Okay, well, I’m tracking Martin Li. Can you help me?”

_“If I must.”_

His suit began to scan all the cars within view. Several seconds passed, and Peter was about to ask if she needed help, but then a holographic line appeared on his HUD.

_“Your target is approximately three blocks away. He is traveling by vehicle.”_

“Thanks.” He fired a web line and yanked himself up, vaulting over the nearest rooftop and leaping to the next. He didn’t want to attract attention by web-swinging, so for now, running across buildings would have to do. When he reached the roof’s edge, he kicked off with one foot, soaring over the wide street below, then tucked and rolled on impact, somersaulting to his feet effortlessly without breaking stride.

“I need to stay on him. Can you highlight the car he’s in?”

Jocasta tsked, and Peter got the impression he was being judged. A moment later, a blue light appeared over a black SUV that was stopped at a nearby light.

When the traffic light turned green, and the SUV began to move again, an alert sounded within the suit.

_“Incoming call from an unregistered mobile number. Will you answer?”_

“Um, I guess—”

The line connected, and a familiar voice asked, _“Peter?”_

“Connor?” He jumped over another street, landing on the other side with a huff. “Listen, about Li—”

 _“I know you don’t want me to come,”_ he interrupted quickly. He sounded winded, as if he had been running. _“But I am. Even if Mr. Stark hadn't told me to keep you safe, I'm too selfish to let you go into the lion's den alone. If I can’t stop you from going, then you can’t keep me from following.”_

“I know, I’m sorry,” Peter replied, sliding under a large, low-hanging pipe affixed to a building’s central air unit. Secretly, he was a little touched by the sincerity in the other voice. “It’s not that I don’t want you here, I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

_“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.”_

He chuckled. “Alright, so where are you? Did you get a suit?”

 _“Sort of,”_ his boyfriend replied. Over the line, he heard a car honk its horn. _“I hitched a ride on a garbage truck. I think I’m a few blocks behind you.”_

“Hitched a...wait, how are calling me?”

_“I swiped a lady’s cell phone.”_

“Connor!” Peter skidded to a stop, glancing behind him. Sure enough, there was a large truck visible among oncoming traffic. He could see a black-clothed figure clinging to the outside of the truck’s body.

 _“I’ll return it!”_ he assured. _“But I needed to get in touch with you, and once I saw Li get into his car I didn’t want to lose your trail.”_

He rolled his eyes, and took off running after Li again. “Alright, well, I’m keeping up with him on the roofs. Not sure where he’s headed yet.”

Suddenly, Jocasta broke her self-imposed silence. _“This communication does nothing to benefit your mission,”_ she decided. _“I am terminating the call.”_

 _“What?”_ was Connor’s dumbfounded reply, at the same time as he protested, “Wait, Jocasta—”

But the line went dead anyway, and while she didn’t have a physical form for him to be cross at, Peter glared. “Hey!”

 _“You may return to focusing all faculties on your current objective,”_ she said, with the air of someone expecting gratitude for performing a charitable service.

“What is wrong with you?” he moaned, leaping across another street. Suddenly, Li’s SUV made a sharp left down an alleyway, and he quickly changed direction to keep up with it. “Call him back!”

_“Why?”_

“Because I said so!” The SUV slowed to idle at the end of the alley, and Peter scrambled to a stop, crouching down to avoid being seen.

She tsked again, but dialed obediently. It picked up immediately.

_“Uh, what the hell was that?”_

“Jocasta. A temporary replacement,” he explained quickly. “Connor, Li’s car went down an alley right after the next intersection and stopped there. I’m on the roof above it.”

_“Okay. See you in a moment.”_

He hung up, and Peter peered over the edge of the rooftop. “What’s happening? Turn on infiltration mode.”

His view of the SUV magnified, zooming in for a closer look, and an in-depth scan revealed four occupants: a driver and front passenger, both armed; a rear passenger; and a driver-side passenger.

 _“Your friend has arrived,”_ Jocasta remarked dryly. Peter glanced around and, sure enough, Connor was climbing up the fire escape to meet him. As it turned out, his “suit” was little more than a hooded jacket and a black bandanna wrapped around the lower half of his face, obscuring everything below his eyes. It hid his identity, but he looked more like a thug than a vigilante.

“I like the look,” Peter teased. “Very inconspicuous.”

“It’s functional,” he whispered back defensively, ducking down low next to Peter. “What’d I miss?”

“Nothing, they just stopped. Jocasta, what are they saying?”

 _“Enhanced reconnaissance activated.”_ There was a beep, and suddenly Li’s voice filled in the quiet.

_“—my spies have confirmed that his transfer is to be finalized tomorrow, but they are moving him today. This will be our only opportunity.”_

“He has people spying for him,” Peter relayed back to Connor, his heart pounding. How many? Who were they? “Someone is being moved, and they...need to get to him? Maybe?”

 _“When do we strike?”_ the other occupant asked, and Peter tensed, cold fire shooting up his spine.

“Mallen’s in the car with him,” he hissed. "I thought the Inner Demons don't know who Negative is?"

"We don't—didn't," Connor replied with wide eyes. "But Mallen's his right-hand man. Must get him special privileges."

 _“Laser will begin momentarily,”_ Li replied. Mallen must have given him some non-verbal reply, because he continued, _“No, you will not be accompanying him. I have already provided him with different backup. You still have my doubts to allay.”_

 _“I’ve served you faithfully for years.”_ Mallen sounded incredulous. _“Because of one failure—”_

 _“One failure is all it takes,”_ Li snapped, silencing his subordinate instantly. _“Everything we had worked for was already in jeopardy. You were ordered to kill Spider-Man and recapture Animus, to erase the problem his defiance created. But even with Rhino and Calypso for support, you failed. Worse, you underestimated Spider-Man’s relationship with Iron Man, and now we have an Avenger to worry about.”_

 _“Stark is nothing,”_ Mallen spat, and the hatred in his voice made Peter’s skin crawl. _“Even with Spider-Man and Animus on his side, your Inner Demons are stronger. I will melt his armor down to slag, and hang his corpse above the city for all to see.”_

A thought occurred to Peter. This conversation _alone_ would be invaluable proof to use against Li, more damning than any paper trail or coerced testimony.

“Jocasta, can you record this?”

 _“No. The Baby Monitor Protocol was a function tied intricately to Karen,”_ she answered, with an air of distaste. _“I am a user-interface program meant for operating the Iron Man armor. I am not built for...this. I can keep its software running, but server access and wireless capabilities are extremely limited in this form. Now, if your suit had proper a quantum entanglement array—”_

“Okay, okay,” he cut her off, sighing dejectedly. So much for evidence. “We need _something,_ though.”

“What’s going on?” Connor asked.

“Li is angry with Mallen over not being able to catch you,” Peter quickly summarized, forgetting he wasn’t able to listen in. “He’s sending an Inner Demon named Laser on a mission instead of him.”

Connor digested this with a frown, nodding.

 _“Send me with Laser,”_ Mallen implored. _“Let me prove to you that I am still your greatest weapon!”_

 _“No. I will not cater to your bloodlust to heal your bruised ego,”_ Li shot back scathingly. _“When the time is right, I will give you the chance to earn back my favor. But until then, Mallen, you will be patient. Otherwise, you will be silenced.”_

Mallen did not respond, and Peter found himself a little awed that Li was able to cow him. Then, a sharp ringing cut through the silence. He heard the sound of movement, and watched the silhouette of Li put his hand to his ear.

 _“Report.”_ There was a pause while the person on the other end replied. _“Good. Do it.”_

“He just got a call,” Peter whispered. “He gave someone the go-ahead. Laser? Could it be an attack? Another shootout?”

Connor shook his head. “If he wanted to cause damage, he wouldn’t send Laser.”

In Peter’s ear, Mallen grunted. _“Even with Stark on the other side of the country, the security will not be soft. This is a transfer from Rikers, after all. Are you sure he’s up to it?”_

 _“If he is not, there are contingencies,”_ Li replied dismissively. _“By the end of the day, Hammerhead will be dead one way or another, and I can rest easy.”_ He paused, then spoke again, evidently to the driver of the car. _“Get us close. Only a few blocks away. I don’t want anything getting in the way of this.”_

A moment later, the SUV began to reverse out of the alleyway, and it merged back into traffic.

 _“He is out of range,”_ Jocasta reported.

“What’s going on? Should we follow?” Connor asked.

Peter didn’t respond for a moment. He turned his head to stare out at the city’s skyline.

 _Hammerhead._ He’d assumed that he’d been moved straight to the Raft, but evidently not. He knew exactly why Negative wanted him—Hammerhead had known Martin Li before his rise to power. Besides the people Peter had told, he was probably the only person left alive that knew Negative’s true identity.

That made him a threat, and a target.

“Hammerhead is being moved from Rikers to the Raft today. I think Negative sent Laser to intercept him,” he said. “He knows things about the Syndicate, and if he talked, it would jeopardize Negative’s entire operation. He’ll kill Hammerhead to keep his secrets safe.”

“Mr. Stark is still out of town, isn’t he?” Connor asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

“So we’re the only ones who can do something.” He was wringing his hands together, and even under the bandanna, Peter could see him biting his lip. “Normal people won’t be able to stop Laser.”

“No. Only we can.” Peter reached out and took one of his hands. “Fighting them is different than spying on them. If you’re having second thoughts...”

He squeezed his hand back. “I’m not.” He met his eyes, and there was a fire in them that was impossible to deny. “People are in danger. I don’t want them, _or_ you hurt. Like I said on the phone, if I can’t stop you...”

Behind his mask, Peter’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Guess I’m stuck with you, then.”

“Yeah.” Connor turned his gaze toward the SI building. “You are. Now let’s go catch a demon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you this wasn't the last of Hammerhead. Oh no! Time for another clash with the Inner Demons...? 
> 
> I'm really glad to see that people are loving Connor and the plot. This story was created before the Spider-Man PS4 game was even released, but they both feature Mister Negative as the main villain. So I worried that my plot and the game's plot would be similar, but I'm happy to say that they aren't.
> 
> As always, your comments keep me writing! I think I'm getting the hand of this uploading-via-mobile thing. It's handy.


	13. Battle Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Connor battle the Inner Demons, and bite off more than they can chew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Battle Cry" by The Family Crest.
> 
> This is a chapter I've been waiting to post for a while now, and it's also the one which took me a billion rewrites to get it right. So I'm happy to see it published.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Violence, not graphic but not mild either.

Rikers Island was all the way in the opposite direction from their location, much too far for Connor to hitch a ride on another garbage truck. Fortunately, Peter already had an alternative solution in mind.

“This is really cool!” Connor yelled in his ear as they zipped over cars and pedestrians below. “But still a little terrifying!”

Peter snickered. He hardly felt the extra weight on his back, though it did somewhat hamper his ability to make sharp turns. There would be no fancy acrobatics as long as Connor clung to him like a baby koala. Attaching a line to the corner of a tall, brick building, he vaulted the two of them around it, high into the air.

“Tell me about Laser!” he yelled over the wind.

Connor yelped as they hurtled over a billboard. “He’s fast, maybe faster than you are! He turns invisible, walks through walls, and teleports!”

“Anything else?”

“Well, he’s really annoying! He never shuts up!”

Interesting, but not particularly helpful. “Jocasta, any chance you can call the guards at Rikers? At least let them know what’s going on?"

_“All incoming calls to the prison are being jammed.”_

“Okay, have you tried the NYPD?”

 _“Oh, Heavens no. After all, I am no smarter than Siri, and incapable of thought beyond the specifics of your masterful commands,”_ she griped. _“My calls are not going through to them either, genius.”_

“A simple yes or no would have been fine.”

“Laser will hit them while they’re on the road!” Connor added, oblivious to the snark. “I doubt he’ll actually go _inside_ the prison—it makes more sense for him to wait until Hammerhead is out in the open. So we need to find the car he’s being transported in!”

Peter nodded, firing a pair of web lines to the edge of a apartment complex’s roof, and slingshotting them over it. “Jocasta, can you help us narrow down the search?”

 _“I cannot access CCTV servers, but I can tell you that one armored transport left the prison about five minutes ago. It should be crossing the Rikers Bridge now,”_ she replied.

“Alright. Almost there now.”

As he spoke, they rounded a corner, and the East River came into view. Positioned squarely in the middle of the river was a large landmass—Rikers Island. Peter had never had any desire to go there, especially since he knew it was where Toomes was serving his sentence, and he found himself even less willing to be near it now that he knew Hammerhead and Inner Demons would be waiting for him as well. The bridge was long, narrow, and totally empty—there wasn’t much traffic to or from the island after visitor hours.

He soared over the water and opted from one of the bridge’s pillars below the surface of the road. He landed on the concrete surface and stuck to it instantly. “You good back there?”

 _“No.”_ Connor clung tighter to him, sounding vaguely sick. “Can we get this over with, please?”

“You didn’t mind the Wonder Wheel,” Peter noted with ill-disguised glee. He crawled up the column a little more, nearly level with the street. “What changed?”

“Nothing,” Connor protested, as he clambered off and shimmied his way over to the bridge's wall. He rolled over it, and onto solid ground. “But the Wonder Wheel had _safety bars_ and a _bench,_ and was not entirely dependent on _upper body strength_ to survive.”

Stifling giggles, Peter jumped after him. Mercifully, the bridge had a small sidewalk, so they didn’t have stand in the way of any oncoming traffic.

“Right.” Connor pulled down his bandanna, exposing his face. “What’s the plan?”

“Jocasta?”

_“The transport is on its way. It’s heading to LaGuardia Airport, so you won’t have to babysit it for long.”_

He rolled his eyes. None of the other programs he'd met were quite as…as _informal_ as she was. “She says we just have to wait.”

Connor nodded, and turned his face toward the island, but Peter quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Then he lifted his mask over his nose and kissed the other boy.

“For luck,” was his explanation upon pulling away.

“Y-you stole that from the Star Wars movies, you nerd,” Connor stammered, flustered.

Peter pulled his mask back down, hiding his pink cheeks. “Good thing you like them as well, then.”

His boyfriend blushed in response, and Peter opened his mouth to laugh when he felt a prickle of unease. His muscles tensed.

Then, all of a sudden,Connor was thrown wildly across the street, as if hit by an invisible explosion. He struck the opposite wall of the bridge and fell to hands and knees.

“Con—”

Something struck him across the face. It wasn’t a particularly powerful blow, but the surprise of it was enough to make Peter stumble. Then it hit him again, and again, pounding his diaphragm and jabbing into his side.

Spider sense flaring incessantly, Peter let instinct take over. He jumped backward, away from.the buzzing in his skull, and when he did he saw the vague outline of a person. It briefly flickered in the space where he had just been, then vanished, and his spider sense went off again.

Peter dodged a second, nearly imperceptible attack, and retaliated with a burst of webbing. It snagged the invisible assailant, slowing him to a stop in the middle of the street.

Like Connor had when they met, he wore a dark ensemble of hard plastic and leather that was standard for the Inner Demons, as well as goggles and a mask to cover the lower half of his face. He was skinny, with red hair, and fidgeted as if he’d been caffeinated to the point that his body literally could not sit still. When he pulled off the mask and goggles to scowl, Peter noticed his eyes were brown and his face was adorned with freckles.

“Yuck!” he complained, pulling at the webbing. “What _is_ this stuff?”

“You’re Laser,” Peter breathed, his hands curling into fists.

“Yeah, and you hit me! Not an easy thing to do." Laser's words were youthful, but his voice was too mature for him to be younger than Connor. “And you dodged me! No one ever dodges me.”

“Well, first time for everything.”

“Aha!” He finally succeeded in ripping the webbing off his torso, but he didn’t vanish. “I'm just here to do a job. I didn't expect company. But, well, when I saw who was waiting for me on the bridge, I just couldn’t resist getting the one-up on you. Spider-Man and—”

Off to the side, Connor rolled onto his back, still looking a little dazed. Laser glanced at him.

“And him,” he said snidely. “Almost didn’t recognize you there, Animus. How’s life?”

Peter winced. In his concern, he had completely forgotten that Spider-Man probably shouldn’t be blurting out Animus' real name. He fired more webbing at Laser, but the Inner Demon blinked out of existence and reappeared several feet to his right. “Missed me, missed me! Now you gotta—”

Suddenly a perfect sphere of black energy struck his side and exploded, sending Laser flying ungracefully, like a rag doll, down the length of the bridge.

“I told you, he’s annoying,” Connor grumbled, sitting up. His hands were glowing. “Let’s just take care of him.”

Peter jogged over and pulled him to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Laser’s prone form vanish. “I’m open to advice on that. He’s fast.”

“Laser can only use one ability at a time,” Connor summoned more energy around his hands, coalescing and wearing the strange power as if it were a pair of boxing gloves. “If he’s phasing through stuff, he’s moving at normal speed. If he’s invisible, he’s solid and you can hit him. When he’s teleporting, he can't defend himself if you predict where he'll show up. Hit him hard and fast, and keep up the pressure.”

Peter nodded. That made things a little easier. “Okay, I can—”

His spider sense interrupted, and Peter leapt backward, pulling Connor with him. In front of them Laser appeared, striking the ground where they had been a moment before.

“Hold still!” he complained, and vanished again. Then he reappeared between the two boys and shoved them apart. Before Peter could react, a fist clocked his jaw, and Laser was gone seconds before he could lunge back in retaliation.

“No, _you_ hold still!” he yelled back at the empty bridge. “Jocasta, Inner Demons leave emission trails from their Extremis. Can you track Laser that way?”

 _“No. He is moving too fast,”_ she replied. _“His energy signature is all over the place. It is masking his presence.”_

“Perfect.” Something flickered behind Connor, and Peter yelled, “Look out!”

Connor turned, but he was too slow. Laser sucker-punched him, and began to rapidly teleport in a circle around him. Each time he reappeared, he hit from a different angle, and Connor didn’t have heightened reflexes to help him avoid the blows. Desperately, Peter webbed the back of his shirt and yanked him out of the deadly vortex, then fired several rapid bursts from his web-shooters. They struck Laser’s face, making him stumble and shriek.

This was the best opening he was going to get. He lunged forward, striking the blinded Inner Demon in his temple. His next swing, however, passed clean through Laser’s head, hitting nothing. Dumbfounded, he froze for just a moment too long, and Laser kicked himself off Peter’s chest, sending him flying. Before he hit the ground, Laser vanished again.

“Ow,” Connor complained from behind. He was rubbing his jaw. “He’s too fast for me—”

Something flickered over his head, and instinct took over once again. Just as Laser appeared above Connor, Peter snagged him with a web line and swung him in a vicious arc, slamming the Inner Demon into the road with such force that the asphalt cracked beneath him.  He tried to get up, but Connor kept up the pressure, hurling bolts of energy from his hands. Each one exploded on contact and sent him stumbling backward, keeping him unbalanced.

“No fair!” Laser yelled, finally managing to turn intangible, and Connor’s bolts passed through him harmlessly. “Two on one is so not cool!”

He disappeared, and complimented the next materialization with his foot firmly meeting Peter’s temple. Blinking away stars, Peter made a blind lunge for him, but Laser had already moved on. He’d focused his next attack Connor, who had surrounded himself with a barrier for protection. Laser struck it from multiple angles, attempting breach it, but with no success.

“Animus!” Peter yelled. “Push him to me!”

His boyfriend nodded, and the barrier rapidly expanded outward, sending a startling Laser flying. Peter leapt, tackling the Inner Demon into the ground. He pinned him down, but that didn’t last—he simply phased through Peter’s arms and flitted away, putting distance between them.

“Come on,” Peter taunted, while Connor coalesced his barrier into several energy orbs, ready to throw them. “You’ve got some cool tricks, but there’s no way you can beat us both.”

Laser shrugged. “Yeah, well. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Connor’s nose wrinkled. “Ew.”

“Fortunately, my partner _really_ likes fighting!”

Peter froze. Partner?

Then Li's words came back to him. _I have already provided Laser with different backup._

That was when the ground exploded under his feet.

In a violent flash of fire and debris, Peter was thrown off his feet with concussive force, then crashed to the ground. Through the pain and the blacks spots creeping around his vision, he dimly registered that he must have flown thirty or forty feet. As he laid there, ears ringing, he could feel tremors shake the ground.

 _“Peter, you must get up,”_ Jocasta urged in his ear. She sounded far away.

“Jocasta,” he groaned, rising to his hands and knees. “What happened?”

_“There is another Inner Demon. I do not recognize this one.”_

That caused some sharpness return to his nerves. A second Inner Demon was trouble.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

Connor was back on the defensive, weaving an energy barrier around himself to deflect various orange, glowing projectiles. They exploded violently whenever they struck the barrier, and were being hurled like softballs by the second Inner Demon, who wore an outfit identical to Laser’s. She had curly blonde hair, and was several inches taller than her partner. She wore no mask to hide her identity, displaying fair skin and blue eyes for all the world to see.

Definitely not Calypso, so she had to be…

“Bombshell!” Laser was yelling, flickering around her like a particularly large gnat. “Hit him there! No, there! Ugh, you’re so slow! He’s—”

Bombshell’s eye twitched, and she threw back her fist, hard, striking her partner in the face the second he teleported into its range.

“Ow!” he yelled, clutching his nose. “You’re mean! This is why I wanted Rhino to come with me instead!”

Connor took advantage of the distraction and unleashed a rippling shockwave of darkness from his hands, which sent both Inner Demons reeling, but Laser recovered first and struck at Connor, forcing him to duck behind his barrier. Peter staggered to his feet, shaking off the residual shellshock from the explosion, and hurried to rejoin to the battle.

Just as he neared Connor, Bombshell spotted him. She smirked, and rubbed her hands together as if she were making a snowball. The orange sphere that appeared in her palms looked more like a miniature sun, and its glow was harsh.

She lobbed it at him, but Peter was ready. He caught the sphere with a web line and swung it back at her. “No returns without a receipt!”

As the sphere struck her and exploded, Connor’s barrier opened up slightly. Peter slippedinside, and it slammed shut behind him as he pressed himself against the other boy, back-to-back.

“Bombshell,” he stated, and Connor just nodded. “What’s she do?”

“Pretty much what you just saw. She blows things up.” A pause. The only sound was of Laser hammering on the barrier outside. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Better than I expected. I didn’t think I’d enjoy fighting them so much, but I’m pretty sure I could blast them all day.”

“We gotta finish this, though,” Peter reminded him, unsure of how to feel about those words. “Before that transport gets here.”

“Yeah. Ideas?”

“I think I’m fast enough to catch Laser. If I get rid of him, think you can take on Bombshell?” The barrier suddenly rocked violently, which suggested that the aforementioned Inner Demon was assisting Laser.

“Definitely.” Behind his bandanna, Connor’s eyes crinkled in a way they only did when he smiled. “I’ll draw him in, then cover you.”

He opened a crack appeared in the barrier, just wide enough for someone to slip through. Sure enough, Laser couldn’t resist the bait.

“Aha, I got you—”

The second his head came into view, Peter tackled him, and they rolled away from the battle. As the pair grappled, Peter briefly registered the sound of Connor collapsing his barrier and responding to Bombshell with an energy barrage of his own. But then Laser swiped at his face, and Peter’s attention was drawn back to his own fight. He retaliated, landing two good hits on Laser’s torso, before Laser vanished and reappeared next to him. However, anticipating his next move, Peter caught his fist.

“Actually,” he said, reveling in his opponent’s stunned surprise. “I think _I_ got _you,_ buddy.”

Then he delivered a spider-powered right cross straight into the Inner Demon’s jaw, knocking him flat on his back.

An explosion shook the bridge, and Peter turned just in time to watch Bombshell stagger away from Connor, clearly on the retreat.

“You’ve made a _huge_ mistake, Animus,” she hissed, conjuring up an explosive orb in each hand. “You’re going to end up just like Sable, dead in the ground and forgotten.” Her back was to Peter, but he didn’t have to see her face when he could hear the sneer in her voice. “You’ll drag everyone you care about down with you. No amount of begging can fix that. He’ll _never_ let you return.”

Connor's eyes narrowed behind his bandana. “Who says I _want_ to go back?”

He flung another wave of black light at her, while she tossed her orbs. The energies collided between them and exploded, throwing up a cloud of smoke.

“You think I actually miss that life?” Connor demanded. Peter could no longer see him, but he _could_ see Bombshell, glancing around warily. He wanted to intervene, but part of him told him to wait. Connor wasn’t in danger and...maybe this was catharsis he needed, as long as he didn’t take it too far.

“Hiding out in broken-down buildings, being tormented by you and the others, heeding Negative’s every beck and call?” A beam of darkness sliced through the smoke, striking her in the stomach. She stumbled, and hurled explosives in the direction of the attack, but there was no indication that they hit their target.

A black bolt hurtled from a different unseen source, hitting Bombshell’s shoulder.

“You have no idea how much I hate you!”

A second blast struck the backs of her knees, dropping her to the ground.

The smoke had begun to dissipate, and Connor walked into view, pulsating with power. He held up one glowing hand and pointed inches from her face. “I want...I want to end you, and the others. For everything you’ve done to me.”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat. He made to step forward—

“But you’re just another victim." The fire did not leave his eyes, but he lowered his hand, and slowly, the energy faded away. “We all are. We all have the same bloody hands. Killing you won’t erase that. Nothing will.”

She spat at the ground in front of him. “So, is this mercy supposed to make up for being an Inner Demon? Does it make you better than us?”

He shook his head. “No. It doesn’t. It makes me better than who I used to be.”

Then he stepped away, his eyes moving up to lock with Peter’s. He jerked his head in a terse nod.

Peter immediately bound Bombshell’s arms and legs with webbing. “I’m proud of you."

Connor looked down at his feet. “Don’t be. Stopping the Syndicate isn’t about getting vengeance. I think I almost forgot that. I’m sorry.”

Before anything else could be said, the whine of a siren interrupted, and he turned toward the direction of Rikers Island. A police car and a large armored van were speeding toward them, but as they got closer the vehicles slowed to a stop. Two officers got out of the car, their weapons already drawn, and Peter quickly stepped forward.

“Hey, hey! We’re on your side. Recognize me? Spider-Man.” He raised his hands placatingly. “Don’t shoot.”

To his surprise, the officer on the far left instantly lowered her gun. She was Japanese, with short-cropped hair, and there was something familiar about her that he couldn’t place.

Her partner, a large black man with a neatly trimmed beard, was less accommodating. He did not drop his guard. “What’s going on?”

Peter jerked his head back at the defeated Inner Demons. “Short version is they’re after the dude you’re transporting.”

The female officer blinked. “How do you—”

“We don’t exactly have time for the long version,” Connor interrupted. “Do you have room for two more in that van? They're definitely Raft-worthy.”

The male officer scoffed. “We can’t just throw two more people into the Raft. There’s a screening process, legal proceedings, and the decision is _way_ above our pay grade.”

“But the van _is_ designed to hold enhanced, Jeff,” the woman pointed out. “They'd be secure for the time being, and we have a schedule to keep.”

He considered this for a moment, then holstered his weapon and said, “Fine.”

Peter turned around and grabbed Laser, slinging him over his shoulders, while Connor roughly yanked Bombshell to her feet.

“This way,” the woman said, beckoning toward the van.

As they passed her partner, Peter caught his badge: Officer J. Davis. He was pointedly not looking at either of them.

“Your partner’s a ray of sunshine,” he remarked good-naturedly, as the other officer reached the back of the van and undid the lock.

“He’s not so bad,” she replied, heaving the door open. Peter caught a glimpse of her own badge, and her name: Officer Y. Watanabe. “He just doesn’t approve of you costumes.”

Peter was about to reply, but as he rounded the corner of the van and peered inside, he lost the words.

Inside was a bench which seamlessly ran along the interior’s perimeter. Hammerhead was sitting at the far end, handcuffed by his wrists and ankles. He was flanked on either side by two officer, dressed head to toe in riot gear and carrying automatic rifles. When the door opened, he looked up, his eyes widened a little with surprise.  

“Hey, Hammy,” Peter managed. “How’s it hanging?”

He received only a grunt in response.

“His jaw’s still wired shut from, apparently, when _you_ broke it,” Watanabe explained. “He can’t talk, though I don’t think he would even if he could. He hasn't cooperated or agreed to any deals at all.”

“I thought he was powerless,” Connor commented from behind. “What’s with all the security?”

Watanabe shrugged. “Can’t be too careful with enhanced criminals.” She pointed at the ceiling, where there were several disc-shaped emitters embedded in the ceiling. “Power dampeners. They don't affect everyone, because the science is so new, but they’ll diminish or neutralize most abilities. The guys you nabbed will be secure in here until we figure out what to do with them.”

That was fine with Peter. He stepped inside the van, avoiding Hammerhead’s glare, and sat Laser upright in the nearest available spot on the bench. Connor did the same with Bombshell, and they quickly exited the van.

Watanabe shut the doors. “Thanks, I guess...still wouldn’t mind hearing that longer explanation of this, though.”

“Well...” Peter glanced at Connor, who shrugged. “We weren’t planning on letting Hammerhead out of our sight until he’s airborne. You got room in your car?”

That was how they found themselves squeezing into the backseat of a cop car, while Davis glowered at them from the rearview mirror. There was a partition dividing the front and back halves of the car, though it was a more of a metal grate than the tinted glass kind Peter had seen in Tony’s limo.

“I don’t like this,” he said, as Watanabe climbed into the front passenger seat.

“Me neither,” Connor murmured under his breath. Peter elbowed him.

“I think it’s kinda neat,” he said, buckling himself in. “It’s like, a novelty experience, y’know? Oh, safety first, Animus.”

Connor stared at him for a moment, then wordlessly reached for his seatbelt.

Watanabe pulled out her radio. “You guys all set back there?”

 _“All three prisoners are secure,”_ came the reply. _“We’re ready.”_

“Copy.”

Davis started the car, and they began to move down the bridge, avoiding the new potholes created by Bombshell during the fight.

“So,” Watanabe said after an awkward minute of silence. “Spider-Man? Who’s your friend? He wasn’t with you last time I saw you.”

Peter blinked. “When was that?”

“About two weeks ago, during a shootout in Manhattan. Got grazed by a bullet right before you showed up and webbed everyone to their cars.”

That had been his first encounter with the Syndicate and the Maggia, and the same night he first met Connor. At her words, Peter _did_ vaguely recall Karen describing an officer with a non-serious injury. “You were there? Wow. Um...glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Eh, nothing a few bandages couldn’t fix.”

“She asked you a question,” Davis huffed.

“This is Animus,” Peter introduced, without faltering at his tone. “He’s my new partner.”

“So you’re...what? The Junior Avengers or something?”

Connor let out a badly-contained snort. “Definitely not.”

“What he means,” Peter said quickly, “is that we’re more close to the ground. Looking out for the little guy and all.”

Watanabe nodded. “Alright. I can respect that.”

Davis said nothing, though Peter suspected he was holding his tongue. He knew the type—not every cop was like Watanabe, who seemed to embrace his attempts at heroism. Davis’ kind was the majority, untrusting and suspicious of a super-powered vigilante who they saw as a risk more than a well-intentioned do-gooder. He couldn’t exactly fault them for thinking that.

When they finished crossing the bridge, and merged into street traffic, Peter leaned forward to peer at the officers on the other side of the partition. “So, you know those two we threw in the back with Hammerhead? They’re called Inner Demons.”

“Spider-Man,” Connor said suddenly, a note of concern coloring his voice.

“There’s five of them,” Peter said, glancing back at him. Connor relaxed slightly, his eyes turning apologetic. “There’s five, and they work for a dude called Negative. He’s the leader of the group Hammerhead’s guys were fighting.”

Davis’ eyebrows rose slightly, and for the first time he seemed to be taking Peter seriously. “Must be one hell of a grudge if he’s going to all this trouble to get him.”

“We...think Hammerhead knows who Negative is,” Connor said hesitantly. “Negative isn’t really someone who takes unnecessary risks, and he wouldn’t attack the NYPD unless he had a good reason. He has a personal stake in this.”

“You sound like you know him well.”

“Why haven’t we heard anything about this guy?” Watanabe asked, frowning back at Peter. “We’ve investigated the Maggia, and found nothing on this Negative you say they’re fighting.”

Peter bit his lip, and shared a look with Connor. Watanabe _seemed_ trustworthy, but the kind of information he knew also made people into targets, and Negative _did_ have influence in the NYPD. “I—”

“Oh, hell!” Davis shouted, slamming on the brakes. Peter’s seatbelt locked, restricting his movement, and when the car finally skidded to a stop he quickly unbuckled himself. Peering out the front windshield, he saw through the partition what made Davis stop.

Standing in the middle of the street was a man unlike any he had ever seen before. He wore a brilliantly white suit and tie, save for the black dress shirt underneath and pocket square in the jacket’s breast. His hair was similarly colorless, and his skin was darker than ink, completely blurring all facial features. Were it not for his white eyes and the faintly defined outline of a mouth and a nose, he would be as featureless as a mannequin. Peter had no doubt that his unique appearance had the added benefit of masking him from any facial-recognition software, but thanks to his prior knowledge, he recognized the face hidden in the darkness.

Martin Li.

_Negative._

Connor immediately began pulling at his door, but it was futile—rear doors in police cars only opened from the outside.

Their car’s radio buzzed. _“Watanabe, Davis, what the hell is that?”_ the driver of the van behind them asked. _“It looks like...a man.”_

Negative began to walk forward, as if going on a leisurely stroll, despite facing oncoming traffic. Cars swerved around him, beeping their horns angrily, until one minivan got dangerously close. The driver either expected him to move, or hadn’t seen him in time, because the car hurtled straight at him.

With an eerie calm, Negative raised one hand, and fired a blast of darkness from his hand. It was similar, yet different from Connor’s, which Peter had always thought reminiscent of the Scarlet Witch’s magic. Where Connor’s energy had a certain kind of softness to it, Negative’s power crackled and hissed like an exposed live wire, distorting the very air around it.

The bolt struck the front of the oncoming minivan, crumpling its hood instantly and flipping the vehicle end over end. Negative shifted a few inches to his right as it sailed past him harmlessly, skidding to a stop in the middle of the intersection behind him. Pedestrians nearby screamed, and all cars began to divert away from the chaos, emptying the street rapidly.

“Spider-Man,” Connor whispered, urgently.

“My God,” Watanabe whispered.

“Call dispatch,” Davis ordered. “Get backup here, now!”

Then he threw open his door and exited the car, pulling out his gun. Watanabe hurriedly shouted something into her radio, and then exited as well, copying her partner.

No, no. Negative would slaughter the both of them! Peter grabbed at his own door, and pulled with all his might, but to his horror the handle snapped off in his hand. Desperate, he started kicking at the window.

 _“That glass is bulletproof,”_ Jocasta informed him. _“You do not have enough momentum to shatter it.”_

Growling in frustration, he started kicking the door itself instead.

“Put your hands up!” he heard Davis order, and as he kept kicking, he turned his head to watch.

“I can’t blast us out, not at this close range.” Connor sounded desperate. “But we need to do something!”

Negative had resumed his approach. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, letting it swing open, and then reached inside an inner pocket. He pulled out an ornate hilt, which immediately began to extend a collapsible blade.

“Spider-Man!” Connor yelled.

Peter kicked the door again, and this time it buckled.

_Come on, come on…_

Negative flicked his wrist, and his sword became charged with dark, sinister energy.

“PETER!”

He heaved one final kick at it, and with a sound of tearing metal, the door was ripped off its hinges. Instantly, Peter launched himself out of the car. He snagged the broken door, and with a yell, heaved it over his head at Negative.

With one swipe of his sword, Negative calmly bisected the projectile, flinging the pieces away.

 **“Ah,”** he said, in a voice which reverberated deep down Peter’s spine. **“There you are.”**

“Get out of here!” Next to him, Connor was waving at the armored van, which had begun to reverse. “Go! Find another way—”

He didn’t hear the rest, because Davis and Watanabe began unloading their weapons. Negative erected a black shield of energy, which deflected the bullets away effortlessly. Then he slashed a line through the air with his sword, discharging a curved, sickle-shaped wave of energy which struck the ground at the officers’ feet and exploded, sending them flying.

Peter braced himself for a fight, but when Negative unleashed another wave, this one went over his head and struck the van. The front half of the vehicle exploded into a massive fireball, and the back half crashed to the ground, throwing up sparks.

 **“How noble,”** Negative said, his lip curling, displaying white teeth. **“My Animus. Look how far you have fallen.”**

Connor did not move or speak. He seemed utterly petrified, and his hands trembled.

Negative continued walking slowly toward them, approaching the two without a care in the world. **“When Laser called Bombshell in for support, I expected you two would be to blame. I did** **_not_ ** **expect them to fail to defeat you.”** His eyes slid over to the flaming wreckage of the van. **“Clearly a mistake on my part, and one I am here personally to...rectify.”**

“Jocasta,” Peter whispered. “We need help.”

_“NYPD officers are already en route. Officer Watanabe managed to get a call through.”_

That wasn’t going to be _nearly_ enough help.

“Y-you can’t beat both of us.” Peter had never heard Connor sound so small. “I-I’m not afraid of you.”

 **“You have always been a terrible liar, Animus.”** Negative raised one eyebrow, looking unimpressed. He locked eyes with Peter. **“Spider-Man. How nice to finally meet you in person. My compliments on defeating Hammerhead, but your usefulness has come and gone. Now, you are simply a tiresome annoyance.”**

“Yeah, I’m cute like that,” Peter remarked. “How about you tell me more down at the nearest police station?”

Negative chuckled, a distorted sound that was all kinds of wrong. **“Mallen did not find you as amusing as I do. Perhaps you should have been a comedian. It has a better survival rate.”**

“Eh, not by much.”

He chuckled again, and Peter tried not to let on how unnerved he was that a supervillain was actually _laughing_ at his wisecracks.

 **“Well, in any event, Spider-Man...”** Negative pointed his sword at them. **“This is where your story ends.”**

Then he moved.

Peter was completely unprepared for his speed. Laser, by virtue of his teleportation, could _technically_ get around quicker, but Negative had heightened, superhuman speed he had only ever seen once before—in Captain America. One moment, he’d been several yards away. But then, within the next two heartbeats, he was swinging his sword at Peter’s throat.

His reflexes moved like lightning, and Peter ducked under the strike. He jabbed at Negative’s exposed stomach, but his enemy blocked the blow with equal agility and deftly avoided a strike from Connor. Peter rolled away from the sword again, and caught it with webbing, then yanked the weapon out of its owner’s grip. Hurling it aside, Peter closed in and threw his fist as hard as he could, channeling every ounce of his strength, the same power that had defeated Hammerhead—

To his horror, Negative caught his fist. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and he looked almost impressed by the display of raw strength, but there was no ambiguity here. _When Peter didn’t hold back, Negative was still stronger._

With his free hand, Negative slammed an open palm against his chest, and Peter felt all the air leave his lungs as he went airborne. Recovering in midair, he landed upright and webbed himself toward Negative just as he dodged a blast from Connor.

“Hey!” he protested, narrowly ducking under a wild haymaker. “Uh, my story’s still going! I’m still here. Are you sure this is where it ends? It doesn’t feel like it.”

 **“Shut up!”** Negative snarled, his hands sizzling with more black energy.

“I’m just saying, personally, I would like my story to end 80 years from now, surrounded by great-grandkids—”

Negative fired dark, electrical bolts at him from his fingertips, and Peter yelped, barely avoiding them. As they flew past him, _much_ too close for comfort, he felt the air boil and freeze all at once.

“Out of the way!” Connor yelled, and Peter scrambled to comply as he unleashed a sustained blast from his hands. Their enemy responded in kind, and for a split second the energies collided and warred with each other, before Negative’s won and ripped its way through, striking Connor. He screamed as black fire rippled across his body, then dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

 _“Animus!”_ Peter changed web-shooter combinations, and hurled a web-grenade at Negative. It exploded, instantly drenching the supervillain in a sticky mess and immobilizing him. Peter attached a web line to the cocoon and yanked himself forward, slamming his foot directly into Negative’s face as hard as he could. The force of the blow tore him from the webs and sent him sprawling down the street, but Peter no longer cared about winning the fight. He hurried back to Connor, who still had tiny sparks of darkness arching their way up and down his body.

“Connor,” he hissed, forgetting codenames as he knelt down. “Please, get up!”

“We can’t beat him,” Connor groaned weakly, struggling to sit up as the sparks subsided. “You have to—”

“I am _not_ leaving you here!”

Whatever Connor was about to say next died in his throat, because he got sight of something over Peter’s shoulder and his eyes widened. Peter turned to approach the oncoming threat, his spider sense screaming, but he was too slow. Negative tackled him, hurling him into the ground next to Connor and pinning both boys by their throats.

 **“Such loyalty,”** he hissed, digging his fingers in painfully, completely impervious to their struggles. **“I wonder where it comes from. He certainly never gave me the same respect.”**

Connor choked out something that sounded like a cuss.

Negative growled like a feral dog. Pressure increased, cutting off whatever breath they had managed to obtain. **“I’m not someone who savors victory. Still, I must admit, the idea of squeezing the life from you both is** **_very_ ** **appealing. But sadly, I am a busy man.”**

His hands flashed with darkness, the energy ripping its way through Peter’s entire being. His mouth opened, but Negative had choked all the air out of him, so all he could do was stare at the afternoon sky, paralyzed in agony, and silently scream.

It was the worst pain he had ever felt. With Mallen, he had been in and out of conscious, but there was no sweet relief with Negative. Every single nerve was on fire, to the point that even though he knew the _source_ was around his neck, he could no longer differentiate between the feeling on his throat and the feeling in his hands or feet. He was one massive entity of pain, blistered and flayed for all the world to see.

When Negative let go, it didn't immediately register. He simply lay there, unable to move, as the pain slowly faded. A tingling numbness replaced it, as if he had been given a massive dose of anesthetic. There was a sound of footsteps, and he struggled to focus his vision. Negative was looking down at him, but behind him were Bombshell and Laser, their heads were bowed in the perfect picture of submission. Beside them, Peter vaguely made out a large figure which he assumed was the bound and mute Hammerhead.

 **“Hm. Still alive. You** **_are_ ** **resilient.”** Negative reached down and lifted him off the ground by the front of his suit.

But then there was a loud bang, and he jerked, dropping Peter. The sleeve of his white suit bloomed red as he gripped the wound, hissing in surprise and pain.

“Oh, look, he does bleed,” Peter heard someone say. Watanabe. He couldn’t see her, but he could her taking steps in his direction. “Don’t move, unless you want more—”

Negative made a slashing motion with his uninjured arm, and Watanabe’s voice died instantly. Peter heard her body crash to the ground, and he tried to scream, _NO!_

 **“We are leaving,”** Negative said, eyeing his own bloody arm with distaste. **“Laser.”**

Laser shuffled forward, and took hold of Negative’s sleeve. Bombshell marched Hammerhead forward, and took one of Laser’s hands.

There was a flash of light, and all four of them vanished.

With what little strength he had left, Peter managed to turn his head to look at Connor.

He wasn’t moving, and he was deathly pale. The bandanna had been torn off, and there was blood dripping from his nose. For a split second Peter feared the worst, but then he noticed the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, evidently something Negative had missed. Beyond him, he could see Watanabe. She was conscious, but breathing heavily, bloody hands putting pressure on her stomach. He couldn’t see the wound.

“Connor,” he croaked, trying to move. His muscles screamed and his bones felt like molten rock. He tried to ignore the pain, but it was all he could to crawl two feet over to Connor.

“Jocasta?”

_“I’m here.”_

Peter coughed, and the spasm that wracked his body lit her nerves aflame all over again. He needed Tony, but Tony wasn’t around. Who was? “Can you...call...Happy?”

_“Dialing now.”_

She wasn’t mouthing off at him. That was probably a bad sign.

He picked up on the fourth ring. _“Hello, what?”_

“Happy,” Peter moaned as his muscles failed, and he collapsed on Connor. “I need help...”

 _“Kid? Parker?”_ Happy sounded farther away now. _“What’s going on? Where are you?”_

 _“Ugh,”_ he heard Jocasta reply. _“You are also in California. Your distance from him makes you useless and unreliable. Notify Mr. Stark immediately that Peter has been injured. I am calling someone else.”_

_“Wait a minute—”_

The call disconnected, and Peter’s ears faintly registered the sound of another line ringing. Under his head, he could feel the rise and fall of Connor’s chest, and hear the faint sound of a heartbeat. He tried to focus on that.

 _Connor,_ he thought weakly, as darkness closed in. _Connor, please hang on… Please..._

Then he slipped away.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof.
> 
> So. Jocasta, Laser, and Bombshell were fun to write, but what did you think of Negative finally making an appearance? Well, we've seen Li, but not Negative. You know what I mean.
> 
> It's likely obvious who they were, but anyone recognize our guest cop characters?
> 
> Until next time! Don't forget to leave a comment and tell me what you think, feedback is the secret ingredient to what keeps me going.


	14. Unsteady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter struggles with the reality of things and, though he does not know it, the seeds of disaster are planted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Unsteady" by X Ambassadors.
> 
> Chapter warnings: angst, mentions of offscreen character death, and while I wouldn't go so far as to call them suicidal thoughts, Peter does the "what if I hadn't survived" thinking.

_Beep. Beep._

The last time Peter had woken from unconsciousness, he had forgotten how he ended up in an injured state. In Tony’s penthouse, recovering from Mallen’s attack, he’d needed a good twenty seconds or so before things started coming back to him.

There was no memory lapse this time. The moment his senses started waking up, Peter’s brain latched onto one single and clear thought before he’d even opened his eyes.

_Connor._

He sat up, ignoring the twinge in his spine, and looked around wildly. He was in a sterile, grey room with nonexistent decor. Beyond the foot of his bed, through the glass doors, he could see what looked like a sitting room. He recognized it instantly as belonging to the Avengers Compound, which meant this was the med bay.

On his right was another bed, surrounded by a thick curtain. He couldn’t see who was behind it. The beeping noise that had roused him from the void of sleep came from a heartbeat monitor attached to a wire around his left forefinger. Someone had dressed him in sweatpants and a white T-shirt.

The doors opened, and a man stepped through. Peter had only met him once before, in Germany, but as Spider-Man. Even without the War Machine armor, he instantly recognized his visitor from the various news headlines over the years.

“Hey, Spider-Man," Colonel James Rhodes greeted, offering him a small, friendly smile. However, there was a tightness around his eyes that did not disappear. “Friday just told me you're awake. I don’t know if you remember me. It’s been a little while since the last time I saw you, and we weren't properly introduced.”

“I know who you are, Mr. Rhodes,” Peter said quietly.

He winced. “Just call me Rhodey, I’m not in a hurry to sound older than I already am. But yeah, that’s me. And you go by Peter. Tony’s told me a lot about you.”

There was a chair next to the door. Rhodey pulled it up to Peter’s bed and sat down in it. As he moved, Peter caught sight of blue lights on his legs—a prosthesis ran from his feet to his hips, humming softly with power.

He remembered War Machine falling from the sky, and how, despite their opposing sides, Hawkeye had held him back from approaching the crash site.

“You don’t need to see this, kid,” he’d told Peter, his voice surprisingly gentle. Not unlike that of a parent’s.

He and the rest of Captain America’s team had been arrested shortly after that, and Peter had quickly been ushered away from the airport by a tense-looking Happy.

Peter never asked Tony what had become of Rhodey. He knew that there had been no fatalities from the battle—it would have made global news. But after being allowed to keep the new suit, and then the conflict with the Vulture happening, Rhodey’s injury had slipped his mind.

Even if he’d asked, he doubted he would have gotten an answer. It was only recently that he felt he was approaching territory with Tony where it would be comfortable to ask that kind of question.

“It’s not that bad,” Rhodey said, and Peter realized he was staring. He drew his gaze back up to the man’s face, a little ashamed. But there was no judgment coming from him. “I can still walk, still run. I just need a little more help than most.”

“Are you still an Avenger?” The inappropriate question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.

Rhodey chuckled once, crossing one leg over the other. “Yeah. Even if I didn’t love the job, Tony would refuse to take my name off the roster just because I have a busted spine. Though...I’m working on piloting the armor. Until I get the green light, War Machine is still benched.”

Peter nodded.

“But if you’re not careful, kid, you’ll end up the same way.”

The change of topic brought Connor back to the forefront of Peter’s mind. “What happened? Where is Connor? Is he okay?”

“Easy, easy.” Rhodey raised his hand in a calming gesture. “Jocasta called me. I’ll be honest, I thought for a minute that she was the one who hurt you, the way she talked. But she told me where you were, and I got Friday to send a pair of suits to grab you. We had a doctor look you over. Everyone’s back from California, but Tony’s out now, bringing your aunt over. He should be back soon.”

“Where is Connor?” Peter repeated, his anxiety spiking.

Rhodey didn’t answer, but his eyes briefly slid over to the covered bed next to them.

“He’s there? Connor!” Peter threw the blankets off him, moving to leave the bed. His body was still sore, as if he’d competed in a triathlon, but he ignored the protests. “Are you okay?”

“Hey!” Rhodey stood up and headed him off before his feet could touch the floor. “You have to stay in bed. You’re not totally better, and you got dosed with some nasty stuff—”

“So did Connor!” Peter shot back. “I need to see him!”

“Alright, alright, if you lay back down, I’ll let you see him,” the Avenger offered, his tone remaining firm. “Deal?”

He did not waver under Peter’s defiant look, and though Peter was pretty sure he could outmaneuver _and_ outmuscle Rhodey, that wasn’t going to do anything but earn his enmity.

Slowly, he nodded, and laid back down, angling himself to get a better view.

Rhodey eyed him warily for another second, then walked over to the bed and drew back its curtain.

Connor lay on the cot, still and silent. He was still wearing the same clothes he had during the battle. They were torn and dirty. His skin was pale, ashy, and his breathing was very shallow. The cuts and bruises he’d sustained from their fight against Negative and the Inner Demons had not been doctored, and they lay exposed to open air.

He looked _dead._

“He's alive,” Rhodey said, as if reading Peter's thoughts. “We know that much.”

“Has he woken up?” Peter whispered.

“No.”

“Why not? Why hasn't he been taken care of? He's still in bloody clothes!”

Rhodey exhaled loudly, and glanced at the ceiling. “Friday?”

 _“Like you, Peter, Connor was exposed to a highly volatile energy that has been difficult for me to quantify,”_ she explained. _“Your heightened physiology allowed you to endure it and recover much more quickly. Connor has no such advantage. In response to the traumatic stimuli, he has become comatose.”_

 _Comatose._ The word held a weight of finality to it. “When will he wake up?”

Friday was silent for several moments. Then, in the gentlest voice Peter had ever heard her use, she said, _“His is milder than the average case. All organs and systems continue to function properly, without need of assistance. But...there are no guarantees with any coma patient. Either he will wake up soon, or his body will eventually shut itself down as it slips into a vegetative state.”_

Ice froze his veins. His vision blurred dangerously, and he closed his eyes. “But you haven't even _treated_ him.” It was all he could say.

“We can’t,” Rhodey said quietly. “The doctors tried. Every time they touched him, they got zapped with some kind of energy. He knocked out two of them before we had to call it off. Gloves don't protect against it, either. I even tried with an Iron Man gauntlet.”

Peter felt sick. “His powers. They're trying to fix him by draining other people.”

 _“I reached a similar conclusion,”_ Friday reported. _“This behavior seems entirely involuntary on Connor's part. But in his unconscious state, there is nothing stopping him from severely injuring someone.”_

He remembered Connor's words back in the shipping container, which felt like eons ago. _“I don't yet know how badly I can hurt someone with it, and I don't want to find out.”_

When Peter spoke next, the venom in his voice could kill ten people. “So we just let him _die,_ then?”

Rhodey didn't even flinch. “No. But Peter, until we come up with a solution to this, your friend has _got_ to recover the slow way.”

“He’s not _just_ my friend,” he whispered. New tears formed in his eyes, born of guilt and grief, and he couldn’t blink them away. “He’s...he’s _more_ than that.”

Three days ago ago they had been riding the Wonder Wheel, lost in what had sprung up between them. Now Connor could be gone forever.

“Oh,” Rhodey said understandingly, and just when Peter didn’t think he could feel any worse, painful sympathy clouded the Avenger’s face. “I’m...”

Peter shook his head. He didn’t want to hear it. Pity and consolation were the _last_ things he needed. “Negative got away. What happened after?”

“Peter, I think you should rest—”

Rhodey moved to gently cover him with a blanket, but Peter swatted him away. _“What happened?”_

“It’s...not something you should worry about now,” he answered, his face pinched. “But if you really wanna know, maybe it should come from Tony.”

Annoyance spiked within him, but he didn’t press the subject again. He just nodded, unable to muster the energy to argue.

 _“Colonel Rhodes, Peter,”_ Friday said suddenly. _“Boss has returned. They are on their way.”_

“May,” Peter said softly. She was going to be beside herself.

“I’ll tell them you’re awake,” Rhodey said, then he hesitated. “Are you up to seeing your aunt right now?”

Even though Peter had no desire to see anyone, he nodded regardless. All he _really_ wanted was to curl up in a ball and forget the whole world, but he wasn’t going to deny May from seeing her nephew. After being badly injured twice in the same month, he owed her that much.

When Rhodey left, Peter settled into his cot and closed his eyes again.

 _This is all my fault,_ whispered a voice he didn’t want to hear.

He’d done this. He had been the one to go after Li. Connor had _told_ him it was a stupid risk, but he did it anyway, and he didn’t try to stop him from tagging along.

Things were supposed to have gotten _better_ after defeating Hammerhead. Instead, everything was so much worse.

The doors parted with a soft hiss. “Peter!”

He opened his eyes.

May stood there, haphazardly dressed in sweats with wild, bedridden hair. There was a flurry of emotions running across her face, and Peter could see them all develop in sequence, like the stages of grief. He recognized relieved anger, and knew the lecture he was about to receive. He had made an extremely miscalculated risk, nearly getting himself killed as a result, and she had been through enough stress and heartache in her life already. She did not need to add Peter to the list of people she’d buried. This was exactly what she had been afraid of happening when she allowed him to continue being Spider-Man.

But in the next second, as she stared at him, the fury evaporated, giving way to something more tender. She said again, in a soft voice, _“Peter.”_

“May,” he croaked, and in the next instant she threw herself at him, wrapping him up tightly in a back-breaking embrace.

“Honey,” she breathed, running her fingers through his hair. “When Tony called me, and told me what happened...”

“It’s my fault,” he murmured, his voice wet and muffled in her shirt. “I’m _so_ sorry, May. I didn’t think. I was so _stupid,_ I should have thought things through before I went after Li, and now...now...”

“Tony told me about that too. It’s going to be alright,” she shushed, rocking him a little, how she used to when he was younger. “He’s strong, like you. He’ll pull through.”

“But if he doesn’t?”

She pulled away, holding him at arm’s length to get a good look at him. Her voice was firm, and rigid. “He will. You have to believe that.”

He didn’t know what else to say. All he could do was nod, and hope.

* * *

May stayed with him through the night until he drifted off. When he woke, it was morning, and she was passed out in the living room beyond the med bay. However, he had another visitor to take her place.

“Morning, Pete.”

Tony stood in the doorway, dressed in a Nirvana T-shirt and ripped jeans. He was holding a cup of coffee in one hand and had a calculating expression on his face, like he didn’t know how to proceed.

“Mr. Stark—”

“Tony,” he corrected, frowning. “I thought we got past that.”

A moment of silence passed. Then his mentor sighed and approached, putting the coffee on a bedside table. He sat on the mattress and drummed his fingers on his knees, contemplating.

“How are you?” he asked, suddenly turning to face him. Peter was slow to open his mouth, and Tony spoke over him before he could respond. “Stupid question. You feel like crap. You _look_ like crap. I don’t have anything to tell you that you haven’t already told yourself, because I know you’ve spent every waking minute beating yourself over this. And kid, you’re too young to be brooding so much. Save it for when you’re properly old and jaded, like me.”

Peter didn’t say anything. His eyes slid over to take in Connor, still unresponsive on his bed.

“I’m not happy about what happened,” Tony said seriously, his eyes distant and unfocused. “Because you got hurt. But I’m not _mad_ at you. I...I can’t be. I’m not mad at Goggles, either. You two _are_ friends, and what Negative did to you is more punishment than either of you deserve.”

 _Friends._ Any other circumstance, Peter would have used that to tell Tony the truth, but he could barely muster the energy to picture a scenario where Connor woke up. Was holding onto hope even worth it?

“Hey.” Tony poked him. He was studying Peter. “What did I say about brooding?”

Hot anger roiled up in him, violent and sudden. “He could die,” Peter said harshly. “And if he does, it’s gonna be my fault. Why _shouldn’t_ I blame myself?”

“You didn’t do this to him.”

“I might as well have!” Tony opened his mouth, ready to refute that statement, but Peter cut him off. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t preach it unless you practice it.”

His mentor’s mouth snapped shut, but there was a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Alright. Fair enough.”

That was a low blow, and Peter already felt bad for saying it, but he willed himself to move on. “Rhodey said you should be telling me what happened. There were two cops with us, Davis and Watanabe. Where are they?”

“Recovering in Bellevue Hospital. Davis is fine, he just got a little banged up. Watanabe’s still in critical condition, last I checked, but doctors are optimistic. You were much worse off.”

That was...better than he’d expected. “Negative got away with Hammerhead. We need to figure out where he’s being held so we can save him. Until Karen is fixed, he’s our biggest piece of evidence against Li, right?”

Tony grimaced, and his averted his eyes. “We already found him.”

“What do you...” Peter trailed off, connecting the dots. “No.”

“Cops pulled his body out of the East River a few hours ago.”

Bile rose up in him, dangerously close to breaching his throat. Hammerhead was dead? Peter hadn’t had much sympathy for the guy, but he didn’t deserve to _die._

“Peter, you can’t blame yourself."

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Mr. Stark, I’m the one who caught him! I’m the one who took away his powers! If it hadn’t been for me—”

“If it hadn’t been for you, he’d still be shooting up the streets. Negative is the one who killed him. Not you. And we’ll make him pay for that, too.”

“How?” he demanded furiously. “We are no closer to stopping him than we were a few weeks ago! We’ve actually stepped _backward!_ Any evidence against Li is either destroyed or dead! Do you have a plan to catch him? Do you?”

His voice rose in volume, to his own surprise, but Tony didn't reprimand him for yelling. Instead he exhaled loudly, threading his fingers together in his lap, and spoke calmly.

“Negative had to gamble in order to do this. From the sound of things, he only showed up after you beat Bombshell and Laser. You forced his hand. Now the whole city knows that there’s some guy in a white suit running around with a bunch of enhanced. There’s an official investigation by the NYPD. So if there’s any silver lining to this, it’s that people are looking for him.”

Seriously? _That_ was supposed to be his takeaway? Peter scoffed, and looked away. Even if the police managed to figure out _who_ Negative was, and that didn’t seem too likely, they wouldn’t be able to take him down. His pockets ran too deep and his powers were extensive. The more entrenched within the city Martin Li was, the more untouchable he became.

Silence fell between them. Peter could practically hear the gears turning in Tony’s head, and knew that he was searching for another way to improve his mood, or alleviate his guilt. Neither of those things interested him.

"We don't know that all the evidence is gone. Friday is still piecing Karen together, and when she does, those files she downloaded might still—"

“Can I be alone, please? I just...I need to be alone.”

Tony’s eyebrows rose and he stood up, but didn’t respond immediately. There was sadness in his eyes, and as much as Peter hated to see that, right now he hated himself more.

“Sure, kid. If you need something, just holler.”

“I will.”

He took his time leaving, gathering his coffee and making a show of ambling toward the door, evidently hoping Peter would call him back.

He didn’t.

Left alone to his mistakes, with nothing but the beeps of his and Connor’s heart monitors, Hammerhead’s warning came back to him.

These were the consequences he had to bear.

Except, no. They weren’t. Peter wasn’t going to just accept what was happening, what _could_ happen, without trying to change it. There was one thing he could do, and it was probably extremely stupid, but if it worked…

Slowly, he got out of bed.

“Friday?”

_“Yes, Peter?”_

“Can you...not tell Tony what I’m about to do?”

_“I make no promises. I am bound by certain protocols. If Boss asks, I cannot lie.”_

“This isn’t lying, not really.” Peter glanced up at the ceiling, then returned his gaze to Connor. “It’s just not telling him If he doesn’t ask, then you’re not really breaking protocol, right?”

Friday was silent for several seconds. Then: _“Very well.”_

Relieved, he approached the other bed. As he did so, more of what Connor had told him surfaced in his mind.

_“if I'm hurt or I'm out of juice, I can grab the nearest person and take what I need from them.”_

If he touched him, he could give Connor whatever he needed. Maybe even enough to save his life. Peter would sleep off the exhaustion and then they'd both wake up later. Logically, the idea still had some glaring problems. There was no guarantee he could separate himself from Connor before his touch killed him...if that were possible. In this state, Connor’s body was a live wire—any sensible person would think twice about touching it.

However, Peter was very good at rationalizing stupid decisions.

Tentatively, fingers trembling, he reached out and took Connor’s limp hand.

The sensation was instant, pain lancing up his arm as the nerves in his hand burned white-hot. Once again he felt something touch his center—his _soul,_ but it was not Connor. Unlike the time on the Wonder Wheel, this was not a curious, skittish presence. This was darkness, and it reached inside him as easily as a misbehaving child looting a cookie jar, while he was helpless to stop it. The pull was not unlike the sensation of weightlessness, but he was unprepared for the sudden, crippling exhaustion that swept over him. Peter’s legs buckled and he crumpled, kneeling on the floor beside the bed, his hand still paralyzed in Connor’s grip. Too late, he realized pulling away wasn't going to happen. Every bit of energy he had was being sucked into the gaping maw that was Connor’s being.

“Hey...” he wheezed, leaning his head against the mattress, tugging uselessly. His arms felt like jelly, as if he’d sat on them too long, and his breath came in pants. They’d been holding hands for over a minute now. That was too long.

_Connor...Con, please…_

His breath came in shallow pants, and Peter could _feel_ his body shutting down. Black spots danced in his vision. There was something beyond the pull, deep beneath the layers of dark, inescapable consumption. It felt warm and inviting, like the heat of the Sun, and was tantalizingly familiar.

 _Con,_ he cried out at it. _You have to let me go!_

The light did not respond, but the pull on Peter’s hand lessened. He collapsed, losing the last of his strength, and slipped from Connor’s grip, sprawling unceremoniously on the cold tiled floor.

He lay there, stewing in his own fatigue while his senses slowly came back to him, little by little. Adrenaline pumped behind his temples, but it was sluggish and not enough to revitalize him. Friday’s voice sounded in the vague distance, too far away to process, and the light of scans passed over him.

After an uncertain amount of time had passed, Peter was able to crawl. Somehow, with Herculean effort, he managed to drag himself over to his own bed and haul himself onto the mattress. As darkness closed in, he thought he saw a flicker of movement from Connor.

But he could have just imagined it.

* * *

Evidently, Friday had deemed Peter’s stunt to not be _too_ serious, because when he woke the next day, no one was waiting to ambush him with a talking-to.

She did, however, inform him that there was no change in Connor’s condition, and that he was not to attempt anything like that again.

That evening, Peter was discharged from the med bay. He wanted to stay, to watch over Connor, but May put her foot down on the grounds that he needed a change of scenery. When they reached the apartment, all he did was barricade himself in his room, despite May’s best efforts to coax him out. He didn’t eat dinner, instead spending hours lying on his bed, reflecting on what had happened. Eventually, when he couldn’t stew in his own guilt and self-loathing any longer, he pulled out his phone. He frowned at the several unread texts. Most of them were from Ned and MJ, but there were a few in the decathlon team's group chat which grabbed his attention.

First, Spider-Man had been seen battling Negative on the street. Rhodey and Friday must have grabbed him and Connor before the news could get there, because there was no mention of Iron Man armor plucking them from the scene. People were currently undecided on whether Spider-Man was still alive, or dead. Judging by social media reports, not many people had confidence he’d survived.

The second piece of news he learned was Martin Li had won the election. He was going to be mayor.

Peter wanted to throw up.

He didn’t have the strength to answer Ned and MJ’s personal inquiries. He sent them both a text telling them he was fine, which they wouldn’t believe. He was very, very far from fine. Negative had won, and Peter had a death on his conscience. He might even have two.

That thought jolted him, like a punch to the gut, and instantly he was angry at himself. Connor _wasn’t_ dead. He was _still_ alive.

 _For now,_ whispered a voice Peter didn’t want to hear. _Ben took hours to die before you found him._

He sat up, and jumped down from the top bunk.

He wanted the voice to stop, but Peter had learned long ago that guilt wasn’t going to go away unless he gave it an audience.

He could go to May. He could call Tony. Either of them would listen and comfort him. But he didn’t want to hear the things he already knew they would say. May would tell things would be okay, and Tony would stubbornly try to tell him he was wrong.

Peter walked over to his closet and crouched down, retrieving a box from its depths. He opened it, and pulled out the tattered red-and-blue garments inside.

He hadn’t kept his homemade suit for any particular reason, except maybe as a battle trophy, but Tony still had his current one, so this one was going to have to do. He’d grown out of them a little, so the arms and legs were tighter than they had been since the last time he wore it. The holes from Toomes’ talons were still there, overlapping almost perfectly over the scars he’d earned that night.

He was out the window in an instant, flinging himself into the night. The November air bit into his skin, and Peter finally realized how much the Stark suit insulated him against the cold. In these sweats, he was immediately chilled to the bone.

Still, he pushed onward. It had been over a year since he’d last done this, last visited, but he still knew the route perfectly. It was mapped into his heart, his soul.

When he swung over the gate that said MOUNT HEBRON CEMETERY and landed on the grass beyond, he almost took off his mask. It was late, and highly unlikely anyone would be here. Covering his face seemed...disrespectful.

But he was cold, and Ben had never minded before. So he kept it on.

Peter wound his way through the maze of tombstones, past a large WWII monument, and into a section of newer, fresher grave. When he reached a grave marked Perkins, he turned right and followed that row down.

He knew that further into this section, his parents were buried. He’d visited them once, shortly after their funeral, when he was too young to remember. He’d never been brave enough to do it again. Instead, without fail, he always stopped at the first headstone, on the edge of the Parker family plot. It was a companion plot, with the left side of the grave marked:

BEN PARKER

AUGUST 22, 1967—JANUARY 16, 2016

Beside that was another inscription:

MAY PARKER

December 4, 1964—

May would be laid to rest here, someday. Hopefully not for many more years. Still, seeing her grave already half-marked brought about an unpleasant knot in his stomach.

“Hey, Uncle Ben,” he said softly. “It’s...it’s been a while. I’m sorry about that. I’ve got school, and this internship...but I should make more time for you.”

He could practically hear his uncle’s voice, knew what he would say in response to that.

_Don’t be ridiculous, Pete. What you do is important, and I’m not going anywhere. Now, what’s up?_

“A lot’s happened,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I, uh...”

He’d been gone almost two years, but now that Peter was actually standing here, coming out to his grave wasn’t any easier than it would be if here still alive.

“I have a boyfriend,” he said.

He could see Ben’s reaction—or what he hoped would be the reaction—in his mind. A twinkle in his eyes, and the clap of rough, weathered hands.

_Oh yeah? May, where’s my shovel—I’m kidding, I’m kidding! So what’s his name?_

“His name is Connor,” Peter replied thickly. “He, um...he’s a good guy. He’d be nervous meeting you, but I think you’d like him.”

_You should bring him around next time._

Peter closed his eyes.

“See, that’s the thing...he’s like me, right? He’s got abilities. We were out together, in the city, and something happened…” Sudden emotion formed a lump in his throat, and he had to swallow it back down before he could respond. “I made a mistake. He got hurt, and now he might not wake up. He might...he might meet you sooner than I want him to.”

_Oh, Peter._

“It’s all my fault,” he said, hurrying to continue speaking. He leaned one hand against the headstone, bracing himself. “I wanted to go after Negative. I wanted to _do_ something to stop him, and I didn’t think about the risks. I said I would _protect_ Connor from Negative, that I would _help_ him. But when push came to shove, I screwed up. Negative escaped, and anyone he hurts next, that’s going to be all on me!” His fingers dug into the stone. “Every time I try to do the right thing, someone gets hurt. Connor. Liz. Mr. Stark. You. I’m never strong enough, never smart enough, never fast enough to protect everyone. Sometimes I...I think Toomes should have killed me on the beach. It wouldn’t have changed anything, his suit would still have exploded. But I wouldn’t be around to endanger anyone else. And I thought I had gotten past that after I beat Hammerhead, because that was a _win,_ Ben, and it was _mine._ I thought I would take down Negative next, but...he managed to turn my win against me. Hammerhead is dead, and I’m responsible for it. More and more people are getting hurt, and he’s getting stronger. If— _when_ we meet again...”

There was no response he could conjure from Ben this time. He didn’t know what his uncle would say to that if he were still alive.

Peter bowed his head, letting tears slip freely down his cheeks. They clung to the mask over his face, freezing in the cold air. “I _can’t_ let anyone else die!”

The stone cracked under his grip, breaking off a piece the size of a potato. It was a small blemish to the headstone, hardly noticeable in the darkness, but Peter still dropped it as if it had burned him. He stumbled backward, unsteady, and managed to choke out two words.

“I’m sorry...”

Then he fled into the night.

* * *

He walked through the city for what felt like hours. Soon it had begun to rain, and eventually the cold moisture forced him to admit defeat. He meandered his way back to his apartment, and climbed through the window, collapsing onto the top bunk. He didn’t bother changing out of his drenched suit.

Maybe now that he’d exhausted himself, he could get some sleep.

Then, predictably, his phone rang, cutting through the silence like a knife. Peter fumbled for it, cursing, and glanced at the caller ID.

The number wasn’t familiar. Warily, he picked it up anyway, but said nothing.

_“Peter?”_

He nearly dropped the phone. _“Liz?”_

 _“Hey,”_ she said softly. _“Did I wake you?”_

“Uh, no, n-no, I was up.” Why was she calling? What the hell was going on? “Um...how are you?”

 _“I’m surviving.”_ Indeed, she didn’t sound sad. _“I got a new number and everything after the press got ahold of my contact info, during my dad’s trial.”_

“O-oh...”

 _“Then I kinda went dark on social media for a while,”_ she continued, either ignorant or indifferent to Peter’s current state of anxiety. _“I did a lot of thinking. About my dad, about you...”_

 _Oh no._ “Yeah?”

 _“Pretty strange sequence of events,”_ she mused, and Peter thought he was going to pass out. _“It just kinda occurred to me...my Homecoming date has a really awkward meeting with my dad, then ditches me, and hours later my dad is arrested, thanks to Spider-Man. And Spider-Man was in D.C. when the elevator thing went down. Then I saw what had happened at Rikers Island in the news, so I found Ned on Facebook and asked him how you were, because if anyone kept track of you it’ll be him. And he said you weren’t at school today, which I thought was convenient—”_

“Liz,” Peter interrupted quickly. “I’m—” _So screwed and I don’t know how to explain this away._

 _“Spider-Man,”_ she concluded.

He glanced down at the costume he was wearing, then returned his attention to the phone call. “No...I’m not...”

 _“Peter,”_ she scoffed, and he could picture her rolling her eyes in the way that was _so_ Liz. _“Either you are him, or you know who he is. There’s a definite correlation.”_

“There’s...I’m...” How many people were going to figure him out? “I’m _so_ sorry, Liz.”

 _“I know you are,”_ she replied, genuine honesty in her voice. _“You’re a sweet guy, Peter. You always have been. I know you only ever wanted the best for me. I didn’t call to yell at you.”_

He blinked, befuddled by that response. “What? Are you sure?”

_“Yeah, pretty sure. I mean, I was mad at first, but...you did what you had to do. My dad is my dad, so I’ll always love him, but he was also the Vulture. Stopping him was the right thing to do. I think, on some level, I already knew who you were when I left Midtown.”_

“So...what now?"

 _“If you need me to say it, I forgive you,”_ Liz said, and Peter knew right then and there that no one was _ever_ going to be good enough to deserve Liz Toomes.

He didn’t know what to say, so he simply lay there, mouth gaping like a fish. Finally, he managed to ask the first question that popped into his brain, and because he was an absolute dumbass that question was: “Have you, uh...have you been seeing anyone else?”

 _“Yeah,”_ she said brightly. _“His name is Harry. He’s a good guy. His dad has money, but he doesn’t tie himself to it very much. I think he takes after his mom. After everything with my dad, I could use something nice and normal.”_

“That’s great. I’m happy for you,” Peter said truthfully. He wasn’t the type to be bitter or jealous over an ex...whatever they were, and he understood wanting something fulfilling, yet un-exciting.

_“How about you?”_

His face fell. “Um...I was—am. I am. His name’s Connor.”

 _“His—oh,”_ Liz remarked, surprise coloring her tone. _“Well, that’s nice. Does he know about...”_

“My hobby?” Peter snorted, but his expression remained downcast. “Yeah. He knows.”

_“You don’t sound happy about that.”_

“No, it’s not that, it’s...it’s a long story,” he excused lamely.

_“I have time, if you want to talk.”_

He opened his mouth to tell her no, thank you, but something in him hesitated. Talking to Ben hadn’t helped as much as he’d hoped. Liz could be a...unique perspective.

He launched into the story without much grandeur, describing his and Connor’s first meeting, their team-up, defeating Hammerhead and being attacked by Mallen, recovering from his injuries and taking Connor to Coney Island. After he finished recounting the battle with Negative, he paused.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said softly. “No matter what, it isn’t enough. I’m going to face Negative again, Liz, and when that happens...”

As much as he wanted to deny it, there was the briefest flicker of an idea in the recesses of his mind, a weakness exploited by the unholy trinity of guilt, doubt, and self-loathing: The idea that maybe Spider-Man should stay dead.

 _“When you face him again, you’ll do what you’ve always done,”_ Liz finished for him. _“Whatever you have to. That’s the kind of person you are, Peter, and it’s why you’re the best person for this job. But you can’t give up. That’s the only way he wins.”_

A tiny smile tugged at his lips, despite himself. “Did you get that from one of the Captain America videos?”

She laughed.

The conversation shifted, for which he was glad. There was nothing about his situation right now that wouldn’t make him upset, so he was content to let Liz fill him in on the goings-on in her life. They spent another hour talking, laughing over Flash’s antics, and reminiscing the time Mr. Harrington had gotten locked inside a museum exhibit during an old field trip.

By the time he fell asleep, Peter’s mood had lifted considerably. He wasn’t terribly keen on the idea of rushing off to fight Negative as soon as possible, and he wasn’t sure how it would play out whenever they _did_ clash again, but he couldn’t deny Liz’s logic. There was only ever one choice—give up, or don’t. Whatever the future held, he would have to be ready to commit to a plan of action. He could afford nothing less than _everything_ he could possibly do.

Her time zone was behind his, so he fell asleep first. When yawns and drooping eyes became quiet breathing, and the breathing gave way to snores, she disconnected the call.

Around seven in the morning, his phone rang again, startling him to abrupt consciousness. He grabbed it without checking the caller ID, and sleepily answered, “‘Lo?”

 _“Peter?”_ Connor’s voice instantly banished all drowsiness from him. _“Um...hi. I’m awake.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Everyone lived!
> 
> Well, except Hammerhead. He wasn't meant to appear this far into the fic, actually--the original draft of this story had Negative brainwashing him into being a suicide bomber for the Syndicate. While it isn't exactly a dignified death, I'm satisfied by how it went, I think.
> 
> And a wild Liz appeared! I love Liz. She's good people.
> 
> Next chapter will be another guest POV chapter, this time from Connor! 
> 
> As always, please tell me your thoughts!


	15. Castle Of Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor wakes up, and waits to be punished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "CASLTLE OF GLASS" by Linkin Park.
> 
> Chapter warnings: vague, vague mentions of physical abuse, but I think that's it.
> 
> This chapter is a bit lighter than the previous one. We get to see Connor's perspective if things, and Pepper makes a bigger appearance this time around. Plus there's softness galore.

When Connor woke from hazy, abstract dreams of red and blue, he felt like absolute _death._

This was not an overreaction, he reasoned, when his eyes fluttered open and the sterile hospital-looking room came into focus. He was totally alone, still dressed in his destroyed clothes from the battle at Rikers. All his joints were stiff and his muscles felt like they were made of lead. Was that normal?

_“Hello, Connor.”_

He jumped at the sound of the disembodied, yet familiar voice. What was the name of that program who had been in the penthouse? “Friday?”

 _“Ah.”_ She sounded pleased. _“That is a good sign of no cognitive impairment. It is nice to see you again. Welcome back.”_

“Where am I?”

_“You are in the med bay of the Avengers compound.”_

“The...” Resolving to process that later, he swallowed and asked, “Where’s Peter? Is he okay?”

_“Yes, he has fully recovered from his injuries. He was discharged and sent home almost 48 hours ago. Miss Potts is the only one awake, currently. She has been notified of your status.”_

48 hours? How _long_ had he been asleep?

Wait, what? _Pepper Potts?_

Before Connor could even ask if she would wait a few moments, the doors to med bay opened, and the woman herself walked briskly inside. She wore a pair of plaid-patterned pajama pants, and a Black Sabbath T-shirt that seemed a little big for her. She’d traded work shoes for a pair of Iron Man slippers and her hair was free from any pins or styling. “Oh, thank God,” she said, with a relieved sigh. “I’m glad you’re awake.”

“Um...hello, ma’am.”

“Hi, I’m Pepper. It’s nice to meet you, officially, though not _quite_ like this,” Pepper said, and it took him a moment to realize she was trying to make a joke.

“You too,” he managed, smiling weakly.

Silence fell between them, and Connor desperately wanted the earth to swallow him up. He had no idea what to say next. She was staring at him intently, curiously, but...her gaze wasn’t hostile.

“Friday,” Pepper said suddenly. “What’s the timeline for muscle atrophication?”

He didn’t recognize the word. _Muscle what?_

_“Onset is rapid, but varies slightly depending on the health of the patient. Connor is an adolescent, and therefore still growing, as well as physically active. Given those factors, he has approximately 72 hours until wasting occurs. However, my scans report a remarkable resistance to degradation. Additionally, the wounds he has sustained appear to have healed to minor scrapes.”_

Whatever that meant, Pepper seemed pleased by the response. She must have noticed the confusion on his face, because she explained, “Don’t worry, you’re fine. You weren’t asleep long enough for your body to start losing mass. But you should definitely get out of the bed.”

That sounded like a _great_ idea. He sat up, slowly, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Pepper watched him like a hawk as he stood up (the floor was _extremely_ cold on his bare feet) and tested his extremities. They felt sore, not unlike the aftermath of an intense workout, but the feeling subsided the more he moved.

“Are you a doctor, too?” he asked, avoiding eye contact as he pulled the heartbeat monitor off his right forefinger. “I thought you were a CEO.”

She snorted. “God, no. I don’t have the temperament for that. But I’ve picked up a few kernels of knowledge over the years, thanks to Tony’s mishaps.”

He was still looking away, but he could feel her eyes on him. He wondered if she knew what had happened. What was he supposed to say?

Pepper sighed, and his eyes reluctantly focused on her. She was frowning at him, her forehead creased with concentration. “Okay, I was already up because I wanted hot chocolate. I think it’s a safe bet that _you_ need to fill your stomach and move around a bit. There's fresh clothes in there.” She pointed to a cabinet on his right, by the door. "I'll...be out in the kitchen."

Then she turned on her heel and left the med bay, leaving Connor to stare at the open doors, utterly mystified.

_This feels like a trap._

Maybe he could sneak out of the compound, and hitchhike a ride to Queens? He wanted to see Peter, and lurking around the home of his boyfriend’s disapproving mentor wasn’t on his list of _Things I Want To Do Tonight, Or Ever._

 _Get a grip,_ he told himself. _You are not sneaking out of the Avengers compound, as if that were even possible. Iron Man would be on you in a heartbeat._

Slowly, he walked over to the cabinet and opened it. A few minutes later he exited the med bay dressed in sweatpants and a grey T-shirt with an Avengers logo on the left breast. The clothes were nice, very soft and clean, but Connor still felt grimy, greasy, and gross. After all, he'd worked up a sweat in the battle for his life, then been unconscious for the past two or three days. He needed a shower, badly.

The room immediately beyond the med bay was a lounge area, with a large, C-shaped couch around a table. Beyond it was the kitchen, black marble nestled in the corner of a free-floating wall. Pepper was rifling through the cabinets, looking for something.

“He always moves it… Aha!” Victorious, she retrieved her prize—a slightly dented package of powdered hot chocolate mix. She turned around to face him as he approached. “Do you want a cup? You should put something In your stomach.”

Speechless and afraid to refuse, he nodded.

She retrieved two mugs and emptied two packets into each. “I’ve got such a weakness for the instant stuff, but it’s never chocolatey enough,” she explained.

He nodded again. _What is happening?_

“Tony drinks his with water, but the best way is with milk,” Pepper continued, as if disclosing a trade secret. She crossed over to the fridge and pulled out a carton, pouring the milk into a measuring cup and putting it in the microwave. As the appliance hummed, she turned around to face him, leaning her back against the counter.

“Again, I’m really glad you’re awake. Tony told me everything that’s happened.”

The billionaire’s words came back to him, at that moment. _“Keep him safe. Protect him and just…keep him out of trouble until I give you the okay.”_

That was the responsibility he’d been given. Protect Peter, and don’t do anything dangerous. It wasn’t anything Connor wouldn’t already do of his own accord. And yet…

Peter got hurt. They’d attacked an Inner Demon in broad daylight. Negative had captured Hammerhead, probably killed him by now. Someone had to pay the price for all that.

“Miss Potts?” He glanced around, as if expecting someone to pounce on him from a dark corner. “The Raft doesn’t allow visits, do they?”

Pepper’s warm smile faded. “What?”

“I just...” His hands were shaking, and he couldn’t will them to stop. “These past few weeks have been the greatest of my life. I’ve gotten everything I didn’t deserve, and more than I dreamed. Not everyone would be as fortunate. So I _know_ it’s really selfish of me to even _ask,_ but… if that’s where I’m headed, then before I go, could I see Peter one last time?”

Pepper looked absolutely gobsmacked, as if Connor had spoken in any language other than English. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, before finally weakly gesturing to the couch in the lounge. “Go...go sit down. I’ll join you in a minute.”

That wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, either.

Reluctantly, he obeyed, slinking over to the couch and sitting down gingerly on the edge of the cushion. His back was to Pepper, but he listened the microwave beep, and the sound of her fixing up the drinks. He twisted his hands nervously.

She appeared in his peripheral a moment later, sitting down next to him and handing him a mug. He took it, enjoying the warmth in his hands.

“Connor,” Pepper said, slowly. She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “Why do you think you are being sent to the Raft?”

He blinked. Did she need a list? “I...I screwed up? I tried to stop him, but Negative got away. Peter got hurt, and Mr. Stark told me to keep him safe, so—”

“Hold up.” His mouth snapped shut as Pepper’s eyes narrowed. “Did Tony threaten you with the Raft?”

“Well, no, but...”

“Then why would you think that?”

He looked down at his hot chocolate. “When I was an Inner Demon…I did bad things. Technically I’m still a criminal, even if I’m trying to stop the Syndicate now. Enhanced criminals go to the Raft. That’s just how it is, right?”

Pepper’s brow furrowed. “But why—”

“Failure isn’t tolerated in the Syndicate,” he interrupted sharply. “If you fail a mission, you’re disciplined. Perfection or punishment. That’s...”

“That’s just how it is,” she finished sadly. Her hand touched his arm, and he looked up. There was something soft in her gaze, a kind of warmth he couldn’t put a name to. “Do you really think Tony would do that to you?”

“It’s not about him,” Connor replied after a long pause, and that was true. He wasn’t so ignorant of the billionaire’s extremely public life, and his heroic exploits. Tony Stark, despite all the criticism that he did and didn’t deserve, tried his best to be a good person. “It’s just...I expect it.”

Pepper pursed her lips. “Tony is the _last_ person in the world to do that. What you’re describing isn’t discipline, it’s cruelty. Trust me, he knows the difference. He would rather throw himself from a skyscraper than do that to anyone.”

He wanted to believe that. But old habits die hard.

“It’s hard to not blame myself,” he admitted. “We failed to stop Negative. _Someone_ is to blame for that. When I saw him, I froze up. Then I rushed him without thinking. It makes sense that it’s my fault.”

“You’re half right,” Pepper agreed, taking a sip of her drink. “Someone is to blame for what happened. But it’s Negative, not you. No one is going to send you away, Connor. I promise you that. No one is going to hurt you. We don’t blame you for anything that’s happened, and if you need me to remind you of that, I will. Any of us would.”

The sincerity in her voice sounded so raw and real, he didn’t trust himself for a composed response. So he settled on drinking his hot chocolate. It was rich and dark, sending ripples of warmth through him. It was _definitely_ better when made with milk. After he lowered the mug from his lips, the silence between them didn’t seem so oppressive and awkward.

“Can I tell you something?”

She nodded.

“I...I care a lot about what Mr. Stark thinks of me,” Connor admitted, biting his lip. “I didn’t at first. When we first met, he decided pretty quickly that I was no good. But he was still nicer than Negative or any of the Inner Demons had ever been, so that still made him an improvement. And then, he offered me a chance to redeem myself. I started to hope that maybe, if I couldn’t get him to _like_ me, I could at least get him to...to _approve_ of me, I guess.”

To his surprise, her eyes twinkled with mirth. “Well, well. Rhodey wasn’t kidding. Look at you, Mr. Old Fashioned.”

Instantly his cheeks began to burn. “What?”

“Peter told him about you two,” Pepper explained with undisguised glee. “Then he told me. And Happy. But not Tony. He said that was for you two to handle.”

Oh, God. Connor flushed. He _still_ had no idea how they would have that conversation. "I just...I want to be good enough for Peter."

Pepper's gaze softened as she took another sip of her drink. “Tony likes you more than he lets on. If he didn't he wouldn’t let you anywhere _near_ Peter. And he doesn't do anything without a reason. I finally got him to sleep, but when he wakes up, you'll see.”

He didn’t know what she meant by that, so he just nodded slowly. “Thank you, Miss Potts. For listening.”

She smiled at him, and as the sun began to rise, shining through the glass walls of the compound, they enjoyed their drinks in content silence.

The scars Negative had left ran deep. He was hesitant to _truly_ believe Pepper’s words, though he understood their logic. Negative had nearly killed them both, _and_ he had planned the kidnapping. Peter wasn’t going to let anything stop him from being a hero, which was one of the things Connor admired most about him. Tony didn’t _hate_ Connor, despite what he thought. Most important of all, Connor was _safe_ among these people. They would not hurt him, and if he needed to tell himself that repeatedly, or if he needed to hear it from one of them, that was okay.

Maybe acknowledging these things was the first step to believing them.

* * *

He showered after finishing his hot chocolate, relishing the opportunity to feel like a human being again. After that he rejoined Pepper in the sitting room. They chatted a little more, but she seemed to realize he wanted space, so after a while they settled into companionable silence.

Two hours later, Tony shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he groped blindly for the coffee brewer. Pepper rose to greet him, while Connor kept himself small and quiet.

They were whispering, but he couldn’t make out what specific words were being said. Part of him was tempted to listen intently, to see if he could gleam some further insight into the conversation, but he shook the urge from his mind, and instead settled on curling up on the couch.

“Hey,” someone suddenly said, much closer than expected, and Connor flinched. He quickly sat up, to find Tony staring down at him. “So you’re awake, and Pepper and Friday say you’re a lot better. Come with me to my lab, will you? I wanna show you something.”

Pepper was hovering by the kitchen island. He glanced at her, and she gave an encouraging nod. So, he stood up, and warily followed Tony out of the kitchen. On his way out, she gave him a thumbs-up.

Tony veered right after leaving the kitchen, descending down a spiral staircase. Connor kept himself three or four paces away as he trailed behind. When he hit the underground level, he stepped out into what could only be Tony’s workshop. There were several Iron Man suits in glass cases lining the far wall, and to the left was a bench and a series of holographic screens, which enlarged and floated to Tony as he approached them. To Connor’s right, behind several archaic-looking robots, was a large, metal cylinder shaped not unlike a bizarre bird bath. The top of it caved in like a basin, and there were several buttons on its side. Directly in the center of the display hovered a blue sphere of light which pulsed at regular intervals. Connor stared at it, transfixed by the warm and inviting glow. As he watched, the light released a slow ripple of what looked like computer code, which spread outward from it like the rings of Saturn, before fading away. As the code vanished, it released another ripple.

“That’s Friday,” Tony said, making him jump again. He was eyeing Connor with an unreadable expression on his face. “Well, that’s her Nexus.”

He repeated the unfamiliar word. “Nexus?”

“Means center. Friday’s everywhere. She’s in my armor, Stark Industries, the penthouse. But _that_ is her core.” Tony wiped away the screens floating around him, as Connor neared the Nexus. “It’s where she begins and where she ends. That’s also where she’s fixing up Karen.”

 _“Hello again, Connor.”_ With every syllable of the words in her artificial voice, the sphere flickered white. _“It is nice to see you face-to-face.”_

“Uh...you too.”

“Come here, Goggles,” Tony called from behind, waving him over. “Friday, pull up Item 1C.”

When Connor stepped closer, a panel in the floor opened up directly in front of him. Out of it rose a glass cylinder, and mounted to a sheet of metal inside it were four objects: a belt, a necklace, and a pair of bracelets.

“Go on.”

Connor peered around the cylinder at him. “You want me to put them on, Mr. Stark?”

He received a shrug in response. “I gotta tailor them to your size, so yeah.”

It was a suspicious request, but not the strangest he’d been given. The glass slid open as his fingers neared it, and he plucked the bracelets off first, turning them over in his hands. They were thin and a dark, gunmetal grey. He could put his hands through them easily, but when he did they quickly contracted around his wrists to fit snugly, yet not too tight.

In a way, they made him think of the microchip Negative had implanted in him. Was this Tony’s own method of tracking him?

He moved on to the belt next. Like the bracelets, it was made of metal, and immediately conformed to fit comfortably around his waist.

 _This is an awful lot of...whatever this is,_ he thought, as he retrieved the necklace. The cylinder disappeared back into the floor, giving him a view of Tony, who was watching him with a calculated expression.

The necklace was a simple, beaded chain. Its pendant was about the size of a half-dollar coin, and shaped in the form of a triangle. The center was glass, and a soft, white light glowed from behind it. When he put it on, it did not tighten around his neck, instead hanging in his sternum.

“Alright.” Tony snapped his fingers. “Initiating C1 suit beta test. Let ‘er rip.”

The pendant’s glow brightened, and suddenly the bracelets and belt were _moving._

 _No,_ he realized a second later as the metal crawled up his forearms and torso. _Not moving. Growing._

Peter had told him very briefly about Tony’s work on his newest suit of armor, the Mark 50. The technical stuff was beyond him, but he understood enough of the concept of nanotech to know what this was. The metal seemed to be coming from nothing, traveling up his shoulders and chest and solidifying into armored plates. The necklace and its pendant disappeared under the nanotech, and it stopped just at the base of his throat.

When the nanotech ceased moving, he tentatively examined its work.

His hands were covered in a near-weightless, jet-black armor which was segmented around the joints in his fingers and wrists, providing very free movement. Two large plates protected both his upper and forearms. Beneath the plates, in the gap between them, tendrils of what looked like metal threads connected the gauntlet together, holding them in place. He flexed his fingers, and the threads stretched in response like an elastic. More pieces of armor covered his shoulders, chest, stomach, and sides. An awkward glance behind him confirmed that the armor covered his shoulder blades and the small of his back, as well. It did not extend down past his hips to cover his legs.

“The underlayer is still in the design phase,” Tony said, ignoring Connor’s fascination with the tech. “But after your extended nap, I decided to rush this part.”

“What—I—” Connor took a deep breath to collect himself, so he could properly speak. “Mr. Stark, what is this?”

Tony huffed. “What does it look like? It’s a suit. Or, part of one.”

“But...why?”

The Avenger’s eyebrows practically disappeared into his hair. “It’s not obvious?”

Connor wasn’t an idiot. Fresh from his talk with Pepper, there _was_ an explanation swimming around in his head, but he didn’t dare voice it.

Tony dragged his hands down his face. “Christ, you’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you.” He peered at Connor through his fingers and said, slightly muffled, “You’ve done good so far, but if you’re gonna throw yourself at Negative, you need to not do it wearing street clothes. One teenage vigilante is already enough to worry about, and Peter can at least _dodge bullets._ You, not so much. So...” He gestured to the armor. “Don’t ever let me catch you in the compound’s med bay again.”

His words were slow to sink in. Connor examined his hands again, marvelling at the armor. This was easily superior to the gear the Inner Demons had been outfitted with.

_You’ve done good so far._

Those words should have elated him, validated everything Pepper had said, but all it did was cause his stomach to bottom out.

All of this was _wrong._

“Alright, cool,” Tony continued awkwardly, clapping his hands together. “Now, right now my nanotech isn’t as sophisticated as I want it to be, that’s why there’s so many housing units. Hopefully when I make progress I can streamline this so you don't have to walk around wearing all kinds of bling. The armor’s carbon-based nanotubes, so it’ll stop a bullet or two, but it’s not indestructible...”

“Take it back.”

He broke off, blinking several times in succession. “What?”

“Take it back,” Connor repeated, fumbling with one of the gauntlets. How could he deactivate them? “This isn’t right, I don’t want it. I _haven’t_ done good, you shouldn’t be giving me _anything._ ” When the gauntlet wouldn’t budge, he abandoned it in favor of tugging at the plates on his chest.

Suddenly the nanotech disappeared, melting away from his touch and retracting back into their housing units. Connor hurriedly tore off the bracelets and hurled them away, then did the same with the belt and necklace. The items clattered to the floor, loud in the stunned silence of the workshop.

“An Inner Demon doesn’t deserve this.” His voice was thick and bitter, and wavered slightly.

“Obviously,” was the short reply, and Connor flinched. “But I’m not giving it to an Inner Demon. I’m giving it to _you.”_

Slowly, his eyes found the older man’s. He didn’t dare speak.

“Also,” Tony continued, crossing his arms. There was a flurry of emotions on his face, and Connor couldn’t decipher them. “I have absolutely no use for this thing. It’ll just collect dust somewhere. You'd be doing me a favor. I have enough junk as it is.”

At that moment, Pepper’s words floated to the forefront of his mind.

_He likes you more than he lets on._

She had told him he wasn’t in trouble. That none of what had happened at Stark Industries was his fault. Would Tony really be giving him a suit of his own if that wasn’t true?

_Am I really not an Inner Demon anymore?_

Was it so bad to allow himself a little innocence?

“O...okay,” he said, slowly. “Um. Thank you.”

Tony approached him then, picking up the housing units from the floor, and clapped him on the shoulder before dumping the devices into his arms. “Cool. Thanks for taking it off my hands.” Then he looked past him. “Friday. Those simulations I had you run overnight. What’s the word?”

 _“All trials unsuccessful,”_ she reported. Several screens appeared in front of Tony, displaying various images of a DNA helix, a 3D model of the human body, and lines of jagged, angry-looking code. _“Decrypting and neutralizing the nanotech is possible, but not without causing catastrophic damage to the host body.”_

Apparently, they were moving on, all potential bonding moments forgotten. Upon hearing Friday’s words, Tony frowned. “I cracked this almost five years ago. What’s the problem?”

_“The modifications are extensive. It appears there are many contingencies present within the synthetic genome. Attempting to alter one triggers the rest, and there are too many to brute-force a shutdown without killing the subject.”_

“Awesome. Where’s Banner when you need him?”

Virtually all of that exchange went over his head, but Connor remembered enough of Peter’s sciency rambling to guess what was going on. “Are you trying to _cure_ Extremis?”

Tony glanced at him momentarily, then returned his attention to glowering at the screens. “I _did_ cure Extremis. Whatever Li’s done to it, though, he’s made it completely unrecognizable and fifteen times more difficult to take apart. I’ve got some scans of you from the first time we met—”

“You _scanned_ me?”

“It was greatly appreciated. No offense intended, by the way.” Tony minimized one of the screens, and enlarged the one which was displaying the DNA helix. “I also have a copy of the original Extremis strain in cold storage. I thought with that, I would be able to whip something up, but no dice. Friday, can you do another batch of simulations? Shake up some of the variables and see what happens.”

 _“All possible combinations and outcomes have already been recorded, boss,”_ she replied. _“Without new data, we are at an impasse.”_

Deadlocked as Tony was, the concept alone was dangerously alluring to Connor. If Extremis could be cured, he wouldn’t have to live with his powers. Deep down, that was the ideal end goal for him, after taking down the Syndicate. He’d never be able to hurt anyone again, and it was the perfect defiance against Negative.

He raised his hand as if he were in class. “Um, Mr. Stark?”

Tony didn’t look at him. “Yeah?”

“What if you had more than scans of me?”

That got his attention. He turned his head to stare down at him, one eyebrow raised.

Connor’s face flushed. “I’m just saying. I’ve got Extremis in me. It’s in my blood, I think. Right?” He still didn’t know the science behind his abilities, but that one he felt pretty confident guessing. “You could...take some, if you think it’ll help.”

Tony stared at him for several moments.

_“A live sample would allow us to run more complex tests, boss."_

“Yeah, Friday, I know.” He crossed over to a cabinet nestled in the wall behind him, and retrieved a syringe along with a cotton ball and bottle of rubbing alcohol. “I hate needles, for the record.”

“Is that why you didn’t take any from me while I was unconscious?”

“Kinda. Roll up your sleeve,” he ordered, pulling the cap off the instrument, and Connor did so. “But I’ve also got a personal bias against doing medical procedures without consent.”

One swab, then a little pinch, and it was over a moment later. Tony put the syringe, now full of blood, down on his workbench, and said, “Thanks.”

Once again, he found the man incredibly difficult to read, but for a moment he considered telling Tony about him and Peter. He knew that there wasn’t anyone Peter wanted to keep their relationship a secret from, even though Iron Man was a more...delicate case. With new ground broken between them, now seemed to be the best opportunity.

Still, he knew he would never forget their exchange in the penthouse, the night he decided to turn against Negative irrevocably. The fire in Tony’s eyes, and the venom in his voice over Peter’s state was downright parental, a fierceness usually only reserved for fathers—the ones who cared, at least. Whatever the bond between the two of them was, it couldn't be forced or shared. Connor had no intention of infringing upon that, and unless Peter said otherwise, this seemed like something _he_ should address with _his_ mentor.

“By the way,” Tony said, shaking him out of his thoughts. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and tossed it at Connor, who caught it clumsily. “That’s for you. So you don’t nick anyone else’s when you need to make a call. Peter’s number is in there already. You should call him and let him know you’re alive.”

He turned the device over in his hands. It was the latest model of a smartphone, but otherwise nothing expensive or fancy.

“Thank you,” he said again, with more warmth. He would have been over the moon if he'd just been given a disposable flip phone.

Tony grunted, his back already turned. He was burying himself in his work, and normally Connor would have interpreted that as a gruff, unfriendly dismissal. But perhaps, he mused as he headed for the stairs, it was just Tony being Tony.

When he emerged into the lounge, it was deserted, for which he was glad. He unlocked his phone, and sure enough, there was Peter’s contact already registered.

He dialed, and put the phone to his ear. He thought he was going to get voicemail, but the line connected on the last ring. _“‘Lo?”_

Crap. It was a little after seven. He was probably still asleep. “Peter? Um...hi. I’m awake.”

 _“Con!”_ Instantly, all the sleep was gone from his voice, and the relief that replaced it was so palpable that Connor wanted to reach the phone and hug him. _“You’re okay?”_

He blinked at the nickname. “Yeah. Up and walking around. I think I still have to get checked out by a doctor, but Friday said I was good enough to get out of bed. How are you?”

There was a pause on the other end before Peter replied. _“I’m...I’m fine.”_

Concern overtook everything else in him, and he sat down on the couch. “Tell me?”

 _“I was so worried about you,”_ was the breathless response, and Connor shivered. _“There was a chance you might not wake up at all, and it was all my fault. If I hadn’t gone after Li, we wouldn’t have learned about the robbery. I was an idiot, and you tried to stop me, but I didn’t listen—”_

Despite himself, and the gravity of his boyfriend’s words, a chuckle slipped past his lips.

 _“Why are you laughing?”_ Peter sounded highly offended.

“I’m sorry, it’s just the irony,” Connor replied quickly. “We’ve both been blaming ourselves. When I woke up, I thought I was headed for the Raft.”

 _“What?”_ Peter’s voice shot up an octave. _“The Raft—”_

“Yeah, I know. Miss Potts set me straight. She’s pretty cool. And she makes good hot chocolate.”

_“She does.”_

Silence fell between them for a few moments, until he asked, “So, ‘Con?’”

 _“It just happened.”_ He sounded awkward. _“Sorry.”_

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I kinda like it. It sounds familiar, for some reason.”

The pause before Peter’s response was _much_ too long. _“Well...I’ve called you by it before. When I let you drain from me.”_

Connor’s back straightened immediately, his heart pounding into overdrive. “You _what?”_

 _“You needed help!”_ Peter sounded half defensive, half pleading. _“No one could touch you without getting hurt. But I knew I was stronger than them, so I did the only thing I could. I couldn’t watch you die.”_

Of all the boneheaded things to do… “But you could have died!”

 _“I didn’t, though,”_ Peter replied simply, and Connor had a strong urge to reach through the phone and throttle him. _“I don’t know how, but...I called out to you, or what I thought was you. And I think you heard me. You let me go.”_

“You called out to me,” he repeated dumbly. “Peter, I wasn’t even conscious.”

_“No, but something in you was. And I think it listened.”_

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Eager to change the subject, he said, “Yeah, well, in other news, Pepper knows about us. Apparently Colonel Rhodes told her, and Happy, but it’s up to us to tell Mr. Stark.”

There was a groan from the other end of the phone. Connor chuckled softly.

“Look, Peter.” He leaned his head back against the cushions behind him, and closed his eyes. “You’re Spider-Man. I’m...something. In our lives, there’s always going to be risk. Maybe because it's starting to sink in that I’m not as bad a person as I thought I was, but...I don’t want to play the blame game. Obviously we both have guilt over what happened, but at the end of the day, this isn’t our fault.”

 _“Yeah,”_ was the soft reply. _“It’s Negative’s. I just wish we were a little more prepared to fight him.”_

“Me too.” He paused, then added, “It still feels like he’s one step ahead of us.”

 _“Tony told me he killed Hammerhead. We have nothing on him now,”_ Peter responded, his voice getting uncharacteristically bitter. _“The sooner I get my suit back from Mr. Stark, the better. I want to go find Negative, and the Inner Demons, and end all of this.”_

Connor frowned, straightening upright. He wasn’t used to aggressive talk like that from Peter. At the mention of the Spider-Man suit, he seized the opportunity to change topics.

“Speaking of suits...”

Quickly, he launched into a short recount of the morning’s events, including Tony’s attempts at an Extremis cure. When he finished, Peter was sniggering.

He drummed the fingers of his free hand against the couch cushion. “What’s so funny?”

_“Nothing, it’s just... Mr. Stark seems to like throwing suits at people as a way of telling him he’s proud of them.”_

Connor started. “I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far, Peter...”

_“Well, either way, he wants to make sure you’re safe, and he thinks you're doing something right.”_

“Yeah, but how would he _know?_ He hasn’t exactly stopped by to catch up on the past few weeks.”

 _“Trust me, he knows,”_ Peter said wryly. _“He’s not always the greatest at communication, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t keeping an eye on you.”_

“Maybe.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “Don’t expect me to join your nightly patrols, though.”

 _“Actually...”_ Peter began slowly. _“I haven’t really been keeping up with them. Between everything that’s going on with us, even since I got the suit back I’ve been...distracted.”_

There was a shy, flirtatious edge to his voice that Connor wasn’t used to hearing. “Hm?”

 _“After a scare like this, I kinda don’t want to jump back into patrolling right away. I want to spend time with you. Y’know, like—”_ He seemed to flounder for the words. _“—like a proper boyfriend.”_

 _Oh._ That sent a pleased flutter of nerves through him. He knew Spider-Man was important to Peter, and had assumed that Peter’s little siesta was nearing its end. But if not, he wasn’t going to complain. They still had a responsibility to take care of, but after the past few days...it would be nice to take time to appreciate each other. Negative wasn’t going to go anywhere—Martin Li’s public image ensured that.

“Sounds good to me.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to chuckle, and Connor settled into the couch, finally letting the last of his anxiety melt away.

Things were going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of developments! Connor's got some ways to go, but he's really letting himself move on. I'm proud of him.
> 
> We're nearing the plot's climax. Almost there. I can't wait!
> 
> Comments keep me writing! And I still have the last chapter to finish, so keep me motivated!


	16. Body Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Connor's relationship takes the next stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Body Talks" by The Struts feat. Kesha
> 
> Warnings: Ah, this is the implied sexual content chapter. Nothing porny. It's so light that I don't even feel the need to change the rating. Other than that, nothing I think.
> 
> Here there be shenanigans! And also suffering for the sake of fluff.

Despite everything, life returned to a sense of normalcy.

Connor came home the next day, and after enduring a bear hug from May for several minutes, Peter was able to get him all to himself.

Tony sent both their suits over in the following few days, but they had been serious about taking a break. Seeing each other so close to death had been scary, and they were in no rush to risk a repeat of that. Even before Rikers, things had been progressing very quickly, and Peter was determined to appreciate whatever time he could get with Connor. Plus, while they were happy, he quickly learned that the details of a relationship were something that needed to be hammered out over time. Every interaction they shared held a new layer than it had when they were just friends. More than once, Peter found himself marveling at how quickly things changed between them.

There was a bit of stumbling at first—beyond hand-holding in school, very little had been discussed between them as far as boundaries went. Neither of them were prudes, although Connor was significantly more comfortable firing back at MJ when her teasing became lewd.

Then, there was the time that Connor had walked Peter to decathlon practice, and was allowed to remain in the library. He spent the duration of the practice quietly observing from the corner, which Peter found _slightly_ distracting. When it came time for practice to end, Peter offered to rearrange the large, unwieldy desks back into their original format. It was during that act, with his back turned to Connor, that he heard Flash speak.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna help?” he asked, his voice oozing smarminess. “Some boyfriend you are.”

Connor’s reply was quiet, but extremely audible to his enhanced hearing. “Maybe I’m enjoying the view, Thompson. Get your own.”

Fortunately, Flash’s sputtering and MJ’s laughter drowned out the choked noise he made.

He hadn’t been _displeased_ to hear that, but...it did bring to mind the topic of more sensitive matters. Peter was taking his newfound bisexuality in stride, and most of it had been easy to acclimate to, but there was a special kind of nervousness that came with the thought of being physically intimate. It was bound to come up eventually. They were both teenagers, _and_ they shared a bedroom, which was more than many other teenage couples could say.

Peter had never _been with_ a girl, but at least with the opposite sex, he had a basic understanding of what unfolded in the bedroom. Two guys...that was an entirely different story. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew _things,_ thanks to the general vulgarity of teenagers at school. But until recently, he had never seen _himself_ actually performing those acts.

Now, he would admit to himself in the dead of night, he _wanted_ to. He was _long_ past faceless nighttime fantasies—Connor dominated his dreams, teasing and always frustratingly out of reach.

He was nervous. He had no idea what he would do if or when the moment came, but he and his subconscious were finally on the same page about what they wanted. So he swallowed his embarrassment, and purchased condoms and a bottle of lube from the nearest drugstore. Not because he _expected_ anything, but because Peter Parker was nothing if not prepared.

Except the moment never came. Connor, to his credit, hadn’t done a single thing to escalate beyond kissing or cuddling. Even when they shared a bunk behind closed doors, doing homework or sharing a moment, with shoulders and sides and thighs touching...he never made a comment or initiated something.

Peter knew Connor to be respectful, never someone to _demand_ anything, but the apparent lack of interest was unexpectedly jarring. Was it his fault? Was there something about him? He was no stranger to body image and self-confidence issues, even _after_ the spider bite. Perhaps the fears he’d always tried to dismiss as irrational held some weight after all.

He certainly couldn’t find fault in _Connor,_ during the brief glimpses he’d caught.

It wasn’t until two weeks later that things came to a head. Peter entered his bedroom after dinner to find Connor curled up on the bottom bunk, reading one of the Percy Jackson books he’d checked out of the school library. With no hesitation, he flopped onto the mattress next to him, and when Connor lowered the book to raise an eyebrow at him, he stole a kiss. Then another, and another.

It hadn't been meant to begin anything, but Connor put the book down anyway, so he could be properly attentive. Several more followed, one thing led to another, and they found themselves lying horizontal on the mattress, facing each other. They’d ceased all physical contact—whenever things got heated like this, a palpable tension would fill the room, and they would always stop at this point. The air was heavily charged and oppressing, and neither boy seemed to know what to do next. But then, Connor’s eyes raked up and down his form in blatant scrutiny. It was uncharacteristically telling of him, and Peter’s insecurity spiked, giving way to a sudden brazen impulsiveness.

“Do you want me to take my shirt off?”

His eyes widened comically to the size of dinner plates, as if threatening to pop out of his skull.

Instantly, Peter backtracked. “Or not, I don’t have to—”

“No, no, I do!” he hurriedly corrected, then blushed. “I-I mean, only if you want to. I’ve never been with anyone, but I’ve had years to get used to...the idea. And I know this is a lot newer to you. I don’t want to make you feel pressured to do anything—”

“I don’t feel pressured.” He bit his lip, then asked, “Is that why you seemed so uninterested? I thought I did something. Or I wasn’t...good enough.”

“What?” Connor jerked back as if he’d been smacked, and then dove in to kiss him, with a vigor Peter had never felt from him before. When they broke apart, he gasped, “No! No way. You’re _perfect,_ Peter.”

That sent heat blooming through his cheeks—and other places. His heart instantly felt three times lighter. Instead of his own, he gripped the bottom of Connor’s shirt. “I think you're perfect too...are _you_ okay with this?”

“Absolutely. Um.” Connor seemed to be having trouble thinking. He glanced down at the foreign hand, then asked, “Wait, what’s the protocol? Don't we need...stuff?”

“If we do, I have it.”

He allowed himself a coy smile, and got a shiver of anticipation in response. Connor’s eyes had darkened, captivated with what was about to happen. Yet, when he spoke it was with the utmost seriousness. “Whatever you're comfortable with, okay?”

Peter almost laughed. He was full of pent-up hormones, had obtained consent, and was eager to proceed. He let go and slipped his hand under Connor's shirt, fingers tingling as they caressed his stomach, then his hip, before coming back to settle below his navel, just above the waistband of his jeans.

“I'll tell you if I want to stop.”

After that, it became easier. They learned to talk to each other, rather than dance in circles. Much of Peter’s insecurity vanished overnight, and if it ever reared its head, Connor was only happy to silence it.

They weren’t _always_ joined at the hip. Living together and going to school together made it very difficult to be apart, and no amount of closeness could prevent two people from eventually getting sick of each other. They were both introverts by nature, but Connor moreso. Peter learned pretty quickly to be able to tell when he needed some time alone to destress and, as May called it, “recharge his social batteries.” He often made his way to the roof of the apartment building, and ended up carving out a tiny corner to himself under the shade of the building’s central heating unit, where he could listen to music on his phone or read a book in peace.

Every so often, when he felt he could get away with it, Peter would deploy Droney from his Spider-Man suit, and have it fly notes up to him. They communicated that way sometimes, using the little robot as a glorified carrier pigeon. It was distant enough to make Connor not feel crowded, but close enough that he could be reminded Peter was thinking of him.

The first two times he did this, Jocasta would gripe at him, lamenting over being underutilized and confined to the Spider-Man suit. Peter was beginning to suspect she was all talk, though. When he offered to call Tony and see if there was another program that could serve as her substitute, she instantly shot down the idea. After that, she flew back and forth between the two boys without complaint, save the one time she declared, without any real malice, that they were “disgustingly devoted” to each other.

The little moments of separation, when one of them needed alone time, were easy enough to handle. The nightmares were different.

Peter wasn’t a stranger to bad dreams. He’d had his fair share after Toomes, mostly involving glowing green eyes and the weight of the building crushing him. Lately, however, he’d begun dreaming more of Negative’s white, colorless irises and that sinister black energy he wielded. He dreamt of Connor flatlining in the med bay, of Mallen burning Tony out of his suit, and the Inner Demons razing New York.

Connor knew about them—Peter wasn’t the loudest sleeper, but he wasn’t exactly quiet, either, and it was nice to talk to someone about them. Connor understood better than anyone else what it was like to fear Negative.

One night he’d confessed, when they were both equally wide awake despite it being after midnight, that he wanted to get rid of his powers. He gave his blood to Tony, in the hopes it would help find a cure.

Peter couldn’t blame him. He had no positive association with his abilities, save the little moments where they created a link and bonded. In his position, Peter would want the same thing.

To the surprise of no one, Martin Li was everywhere in the news, but Negative and the Inner Demons had vanished into thin air. Tony’s assessment had been correct—the kidnapping of Hammerhead had been uncharacteristically brazen of him, and now that he’d won the election, Li needed to worry about his civic duties to avoid any additional scrutiny.

The sudden break from Syndicate activity gave Peter time to focus on other things as equally important as Connor—school, and his friends. The decathlon team was gearing up for their latest series of competitions, and MJ was determined to carve them out a spot in the Midtown hall of fame. She was running practices twice a week now, after school Mondays _and_ Fridays. Peter had only just managed to catch up on the schoolwork he’d missed thanks to his multiple injuries over the month, and his grades had recovered from their slight dip. The new Star Wars movie was only a month away from being released, so he and Ned were thoroughly losing their minds over it every chance they got. They’d planned a massive marathon leading up to the opening night, with MJ and Connor being easily roped in.

It was nice to be normal.

* * *

November declined without any earth-shattering developments, and before he knew it Peter found himself near the end of the month. Thanksgiving with the Parkers was normally a subdued—but enjoyable—affair, so Peter did not look at the approaching holiday with any trepidation.

Naturally, this was when everything went to hell.

On the morning of Turkey Day, indistinguishable from any other Thursday, Peter woke up around seven. Connor was, unsurprisingly, still asleep, so he took the opportunity to get first crack at the shower. When he passed the bathroom mirror, he paused to study his reflection.

Something had caught his eye—or rather, _hadn’t_ caught his eye. He’d surprised Connor last night with a bit of nighttime fun, and had fallen asleep aware of several faint marks on his throat. Normally, things were much more controlled between them. Peter was very aware of his enhanced strength and didn’t want to accidentally cause an injury. But last night they had been a little more reckless, and it showed.

Or, it _had_ shown. The marks were gone, apparently healed overnight.

 _A nice perk of accelerated healing,_ Peter decided as he stepped into the shower.

Twenty minutes later, after toweling himself dry, he re-entered the bedroom and immediately came face-to-face with Connor, who seemed to have just been leaving. His bed head had not been tamed and there was a grogginess to his gait, but he smiled warmly regardless.

“I was going to join you,” he admitted, glancing around Peter at the steamy bathroom in the distance. “I don’t know where May is, but she’s not home.”

He shut the door behind him, smiling. “The hospital doesn’t close for any holiday, and she’s working the early morning shift. She’ll be back around midday. Happy Thanksgiving, by the way.”

“Yeah, you too.” He frowned, then poked curiously at Peter’s neck. “Huh. My handiwork is gone.”

“Your _handiwork,_ huh?” There was a patch of marred skin on Connor’s collarbone, partially hidden by his shirt. “You’ve still got mine. I heal quick, remember?”

This earned him a pout. “That’s cheating.”

Peter laughed, and ducked in to peck him on the cheek. “I’ll give you an A for effort. Maybe you just need to try harder.”

It had been a tease, a jest, but there was a glint to Connor’s eyes regardless. “Is that a _challenge?”_

He allowed himself a cocky smile. “Maybe.”

Connor kissed him, and slipped one of his hand into Peter’s. “I’ve been kicking around an idea...remember what we did on the Wonder Wheel?”

“Yeah.” The connection that had been forged then was not something he’d would soon forget. “What about it?”

“Let’s do that again.”

Peter hesitated, but only for a fraction of a second. That bond was downright intoxicating, but he’d also felt what it was like when Connor drained him. It hadn’t been his fault, and Peter had willingly exposed himself to it, even though the memory lingered nonetheless.

Then the trepidation passed as quickly as it had come. This was _Connor._ He trusted him. One bad experience meant nothing when stacked up with all the good.

“We don’t have to,” Connor said, evidently seeing something on his face. “It’s not important—”

“No, it’s okay. Do it.”

He gave a doubtful look, and Peter jerked his head toward their intertwined hands. “I want to. See for yourself.”

Slowly, the connection flickered to life between them. His hand thrummed in Connor’s grip, like a pleasant vibration, as they opened up their souls to each other. The darkness he had encountered last time was gone. All Peter felt was light, brilliant and enveloping in its warmth.

_Here I am._

The bridge between them strengthened as Connor allowed him in, and as their souls intertwined, he kissed Peter again.

He had not expected anything out of the ordinary, and so was unprepared for the sudden, euphoric rush. His senses were not just limited to his own anymore, he realized belatedly. He and Connor could feel _each other_ as well as themselves. When he reached up to card a hand through the other boy’s hair, threading dark locks between his fingers, he experienced the pleasant sensation Connor felt on his scalp. Then Connor gave a gentle nudge, and Peter let himself be pinned against the door. A gasp slipped past his lips as Connor’s mouth moved to his neck, exploring this new level of intimacy they had discovered.

After a few more minutes they broke apart, breathless and exhilarated. The connection faded, but Connor did not shift his weight off of Peter. “That was...”

“Intense,” Peter finished, nodding.

“Yeah.”

Silence fell between them, the moment stalled—and then Peter took initiative.

“Do it again.” He swallowed, his mouth dry. “Please.”

The sultry spark returned to Connor’s eyes with full force. “Well, since you said please...”

 _I’m going to need another shower,_ Peter realized, as they connected once more and his senses accelerated into overdrive again.

* * *

May came home hours later. Peter heard the front door from his bedroom, lounging contentedly with Connor, and immediately rose to get dressed.

As he shimmied on a pair of jeans, he caught sight of Connor staring at him in his peripheral. “Oh my God.”

“What?” He followed his gaze down to his own chest, then turned around to examine himself in the mirror next to his desk.

There was a sizable purple and blue discoloration covering his collarbone, extending all the way to the left side of his neck. It was patchy in places and not uniformly colored, like a haphazardly-done watercolor painting. He touched a dark spot and winced at the tenderness. There was no mistaking what it was—an absolutely _massive_ love bite. Or, more accurately, a collection of small ones that was so numerous it looked as if he'd suffered some kind of injury.

“Connor!”

“I got carried away,” his boyfriend replied in a small voice, slightly apologetically. There was an undercurrent of mirth in his voice that he was trying and failing to smother. “I’m so sorry.”

“I look like I got beaten up,” Peter moaned, tracing the outline of the bruise with one finger.

“No,” Connor said, stifling giggles. “You look like you got _wrecked._ ”

“I hate you.”

“Peter?” May called. “Connor?”

There was no way he could endure the mortification of May seeing this. Quickly, he grabbed a Midtown hoodie from the back of the desk chair and pulled it over his torso, then turned himself toward Connor for inspection. “Am I good?”

“Put the hood up,” Connor suggested, and he did so. “Yeah, you’re good.”

“This is not over,” Peter warned as he left the room, receiving nothing but cackles in response.

When he entered the main living space of the apartment, he found May setting up _many_ more than three spaces at the seldom-used dining table.

“Um,” he said, tilting his head. “It’s a little early to be getting that ready, isn’t it? Also, are we feeding a small army?”

May stared at him disbelievingly. She hadn’t yet changed out of her hospital scrubs, but she had pulled her hair free of its done-up bun, letting it cascade down her shoulders in messy kinks. She looked slightly like a madwoman. “Honey, have you forgotten who’s coming over for Thanksgiving Dinner? I’ve been talking to you about it all week.”

He fidgeted. “Um...”

She rolled her eyes. “Pepper, Tony, Happy, and Colonel Rhodes are having dinner with us.”

Suddenly he was _very_ awake. She _had_ been talking to him about it, now that he thought back. But he’d been too absorbed in school, his boyfriend, and enjoying his time off from worrying about Negative, that the information never made a permanent home in his brain. Until now, where it sat firmly in the forefront of his mind and taunted him.

Tony was going to be here. In the apartment.

Connor was also going to be here.

Peter was currently sporting the _mother of all hickeys._

With rapidly rising dread, he realized he’d forgotten to have a certain conversation with his mentor.

“May,” he stammered. “I haven’t told Tony about Connor!”

She blinked. Then, as if to prove to him that things could _still_ get worse, she asked in a clearly clueless voice, “What about Connor?”

Half a second later, the rest of Peter’s memory caught up with his stream of consciousness, and he realized _he had never told May about them either._

She didn’t even know he was _bisexual._

“Um.” His voice was an octave higher than normal. “Nothing! Nevermind. I just need to...”

He couldn’t think of a proper excuse, so he just quickly backed out of the room, leaving a very confused aunt in his wake. Then he sprinted down the hall and threw himself at the bedroom door.

“Connor,” he said as he barged in. “Connor, Connor, Connor!”

His back was to him, and he whirled around while halfway through putting on a shirt, wide-eyed. “What? What’s wrong?”

Peter shut the door behind him. “I think we need to flee the country.”

He received several seconds of slow blinking in response, then finally, in a voice that was half-serious and half-amused: “Okay. Why?”

“Tony is coming over for Thanksgiving!” When this failed to obtain an appropriate level of horror from him, he elaborated. “He still doesn’t know we’re dating! Neither does May, because I forgot to tell her!”

All of the blood drained from Connor’s face.

“Yes!” Peter threw his hands out, gesturing exasperatedly at him. “Exactly!”

“Okay,” Connor said slowly, reaching for a pair of pajama pants that had been carelessly discarded hours earlier. “Mr. Stark I can understand. He doesn’t live here. But...I thought your aunt _already_ knew. After our first date, you said you were going to tell her.” The words could have been accusatory, but his tone was just completely dumbfounded. “How do you just _forget_ that?”

“I don’t know!” Peter moaned, pulling at his hair. “I was—I was distracted! There was a lot going on!”

There was a dangerous waver to Connor’s mouth, as if he were stifling a laugh. “Distracted?”

“This isn’t funny!”

“It’s a little funny.”

Peter pulled aside the neck of the hoodie, and pointed at his mark. “What do we do about this?”

“Oh, yeah.” Connor bit his lip. “I mean, you heal quick, maybe it’ll be gone by tonight? It’s only noon.”

Was that possible? Could he heal _that_ quickly? Peter wasn’t sure of the exact science behind his enhanced physiology. “The ones you gave me last night were gone this morning, but they weren’t _nearly_ this dark.”

There was a knock at the door, and they both jumped. Peter readjusted his hoodie while Connor quickly finished dressing. “Yeah?”

May opened the door. “Hey, boys. Oh, Happy Thanksgiving, Connor!”

He squeaked out a weak, “You too.”

“So,” she said, oblivious to the tension and their white faces. “We’ve got about two hours until they show up. Apparently Colonel Rhodes is something of a fantastic cook, so he volunteered his expertise. Pepper says she and Tony are bringing some things, and Happy has dessert covered. I have this recipe of my grandmother’s for kugel, and Connor, you probably have the best luck in the kitchen, so I’m gonna turn that over to you. I’ll give you a list of the ingredients and some money. Whatever we don’t already have in the house, there’s a kosher market down the street that will.”

She received a lot of nodding in response. May appraised the two of them. “You’ll also need to change clothes before they get here. No hoodies and sweatpants.”

Peter coughed, and said, “Yeah, okay.” What was he going to do?

May frowned at him. “Are you okay, honey? You’re awfully pale.”

“He said he felt sick earlier,” Connor piped up hurriedly. “I was just about to tell him he should lay down. Maybe even sit out dinner. What if he gets someone else sick?”

The excuse and the lie were slipped so smoothly into place that Peter almost forgave Connor for the hickey. Almost.

“You two share a room, and you’re fine,” May pointed out, gently. “If I know my nephew, I bet it’s nerves.” She flashed him a smile. “Having Iron Man over for dinner will do that to a person. I’m a little anxious myself, but everything will be just fine. In the meantime, we’ve got lots to do to prepare, so maybe a little distraction will make you feel better!”

Then she left them alone, and Peter exchanged a knowing look with his boyfriend.

They were so screwed.

* * *

Somehow, between cleaning the apartment and preparing the dining table, Peter managed to keep his mark a secret from May. He debated just telling her everything and getting the embarrassment over with _before_ the guests arrived, but in the end he decided against it. The day was going to be stressful enough for the both of them, and throwing the boyfriend talk into the mix was adding unnecessary fuel to a bonfire.

Besides, he’d managed to hide it so far.

Two hours later, however, it was no closer to being gone. Peter ended up googling how long hickeys and bruises could last, and the worst ones took two weeks to heal. Even with his powers, that wasn’t something that would be gone overnight.

Even though May had already told him to change, he had asked if he could wear the hoodie to dinner on account of being cold. Spiders couldn’t thermoregulate, he’d told May, hoping she would buy it, but no dice.

When two o’clock began to near, the boys excused themselves to get changed.

“I’m still probably going to mess this up,” Connor said as he buttoned up a plaid long-sleeve shirt and tucked it into his pants. He’d spent most of the day learning the ingredients and instructions for the dish May had asked him to make. “Like, I know May’s cooking is...unpredictable, but I feel like she jinxed me by giving me a family recipe.”

“For the record, kugel’s really hard to screw up, but I’ve had it when she makes it,” Peter replied. He was standing in front of his closet, fiddling with a necktie around his throat. “The bar is extremely low. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks.” He glanced over at the closet as well, frowning. “You figure out what you’re gonna do?”

“May already shot down wearing the hoodie,” Peter said miserably. “And I don’t have any turtlenecks. So I’m hoping this tie will keep my shirt collar up against my neck. But I haven’t worn this since I took Liz to Homecoming. I can’t remember how to tie it.”

“Hm...” Connor stared at the garment for a few moments, then shook his head. “Nope. No clue. I’ve never worn one.”

Peter’s expression soured. “Thanks.”

“Hey, I’m a supportive boyfriend, not a helpful one.”

Two YouTube tutorials later, they successfully wrangled the tie into a somewhat presentable shape, though Peter wasn’t sure how reliable it would be. When he turned his head too much, the knot loosened and he had to tighten it. But, save for the tiniest speck of purple—which hopefully would go unnoticed—near his jugular, the hickey was hidden.

His ears picked up the sound of a knock from the front door, and May answering it. “They’re here.”

“Ready?” Connor asked.

“I think so.”

As they emerged from the bedroom hall, May came into view first. She had changed into an homey combination of jeans and a white turtleneck. Her attention was on Rhodey, who was looking uncharacteristically cozy in a navy blue sweater and slacks. Behind him, Happy appeared to have worn one of his day suits, and was in quiet conversation with Pepper. She wore a red blouse and dark pants, in a much more subdued look than some of her business attire Peter had seen from pictures.

“I really appreciate you offering to help with the dinner, Colonel Rhodes,” May was saying. “I think after all these years Peter has tried just about every variation of burnt turkey that exists.”

“Call me Rhodey,” he corrected, not unkindly. “And it’s no problem. You know, ever since Pepper walked into Tony’s life I haven’t needed to prepare a full-course meal, because she makes sure he eats, but I did kinda miss cooking for more than one person.”

“Hey, I remember lots of Beefaroni back at MIT,” Tony called loudly from the kitchen, causing everyone to look over as he emerged, a stack of dishes laden in his arms. Unsurprisingly, he had shown up in a blazer, but had traded in one of his many grease-stained band T-shirts for a black V-neck. “But I’m sure Chef Boyardee would be happy to know you think so highly of his non-perishables.”

Rhodey didn’t even blink. “I have no shame for enjoying Beefaroni, but I least I didn’t develop a dependency on instant ramen.” He glanced back at May, and stage-whispered, “He wouldn’t eat actual, genuine ramen for _years_ after college.”

That earned him some laughter. Behind him, he felt Connor peel off to go talk to Pepper. Peter wouldn’t deny his interest in hearing more about Tony’s younger days, but he hurried to collect some of the dishes from his mentor’s arms before they fell.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, following Peter into the kitchen. They put the dishes on the counter, and peering at their contents he could make out roasted rutabaga, stuffing, and what looked like a platter of brownies. He put that one in the fridge. “Turkey’s already in the oven. Rhodey did some of the prep before coming over here, but we made sure it’s kosher.”

Peter blinked, touched by the gesture. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. Happy Thanksgiving.”

He elbowed him playfully. “Breaking this ‘Mr. Stark’ habit is gonna be harder than I thought, huh? Happy Thanksgiving to you too. How’s life? I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”

Peter felt a pang of guilt at that. The last time he’d seen Tony in person was when he’d woken up in the med bay after Negative’s attack. They texted periodically, and Tony had waved off all his apologies over his attitude, but it wasn’t liked he’d ever stopped by to chat or work in the lab. “I’m sorry...it’s been a crazy month. I barely noticed the time go by.”

Tony nodded. “Trust me, I know the feeling. But, no Spider-Man either? Everything okay?”

“Y-yeah!” He turned back toward the living room, hiding his neck from the other’s view. “Yeah, everything’s great. I just...I wanted to slow down a little. After Rikers...”

“Say no more.” Tony leaned his back against the cabinet behind him. “But without it being online, there’s a slew of software upgrades waiting to be installed. Some tweaks to the hardware, too. And I want to reformat Jocasta so she better fits the interface. Things like that. If...you’re not busy, maybe you could give me a hand sometime?”

He knew there was no conceivable way _Tony Stark_ needed his help with a suit, but still, he nodded. “Sure. Tomorrow?”

He was rewarded with a small smile. “Alright, then.”

As they made their way back into the living room, Rhodey gave them a warm smile and clapped his hands. “Well, I should get started. I have help, right?”

“This one,” Pepper replied, pointing at Connor, who sheepishly waved.

He beckoned. “Alright, kid, let’s see what you got.”

As he scurried after Rhodey into the kitchen, Tony raised an eyebrow. “Goggles can cook?”

“He dabbles,” Peter replied.

“He’s great,” May said, beaming as she approached them. “The food’s improved a lot since he started staying with us.”

“Well, he doesn’t have either of our track records.”

Tony laughed.

As their guests made themselves comfortable, Peter found the tension in him draining away. Pepper was gracious as always, and Tony kept the speed of conversation moving, usually by poking fun at Happy or Rhodey—which would earn him a witty comeback from the kitchen. Judging by the sounds and smells emanating from there, Connor was enjoying himself too. He barely noticed when the first hour passed, and the next two flew by even quicker. Getting along with Tony had never been difficult, especially in the recent months, and now that May knew he was Spider-Man there was no need to dance around her. It was a strange concept, talking so openly about Iron Man’s armor and Spider-Man’s exploits, as if this were just casual discussion of the daily nine-to-five grind. This was life for him, and he wouldn’t mind if that never changed.

Eventually, near five o clock, Rhodey gave them the signal to migrate to the dining room table.

“And then,” Pepper said, her lips twitching while Tony pulled out a chair for her, then seated himself at her side. “Then he says, half out of the armor and arguing with Jarvis, that this is not the worst thing I’ve caught him doing.”

“Which, it wasn’t,” Tony pointed out instantly. “Right, honey?”

“Nope,” she said popping her lips on the _P._ “It definitely was not. I think I might have preferred one of those things, though, since they usually involved less bullet holes.”

Happy positioned himself on Pepper’s other side. “Yeah, excluding the time he earned the ire of that Italian fashion designer for sleeping with his sister. Took two weeks for him to call off the hit.”

“The _what?”_ Peter sputtered as he sat down across Tony.

“Oh yes,” Pepper said seriously. Peter half-expected her to shrink away from talk of Tony’s former flames, but in the next moment he realized that she was his _fiancee_ for a reason—whatever the past was didn’t matter. Plus, she seemed to enjoy teasing him.

“Wow,” he whistled.

Tony crossed his arms, but his facial expression was relaxed and comfortable. “I’m pleading the fifth for the rest of the night.”

“You probably should have led with that,” Rhodey suggested as he poked his head out of the kitchen. “Can we get an extra pair of hands?”

May, who had yet to take a seat, hurried to respond to the call.

“For the record,” Tony said, grabbing a bottle of red wine from the middle of the table. He began pouring glasses for people, and handing them out. “That fashion designer was only mad at me because his sister told him she was pregnant and it was mine.”

He pushed a glass toward Peter, who blinked and raised his eyebrows at his mentor.

“May,” Tony called loudly, not breaking eye contact. “What’s the policy on the kid and alcohol?”

“Peter, it’s a holiday! Have a glass if you want,” was the distant reply. “It’s not gonna be like Manischewitz, though.”

“No pressure,” Tony added seriously.

Well, in that case… He reached out and accepted the glass, eyeing it dubiously for a moment, then took a sip.

Two things happened at that point.

First, true to May’s word, the wine was _much_ more bitter than he anticipated.

Second, Tony said, “Anyways, she wasn’t pregnant, she just had a really large kidney stone.”

As a consequence of these things, Peter snorted, inhaling wine straight up his nose.

The sudden burn in his sinuses was so strong that he completely missed Pepper’s admonishment of her fiance. Peter coughed and doubled over the table, trying to get rid of the feeling of liquid in his lungs. Someone—Tony—moved around the table and clapped him on the back.

“Sorry, kid. Wrong time, wrong tube.”

“What happened?” May called.

“I’m so hilarious Peter snorted his wine. Come on, buddy. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Eyes watering, Peter brought his gaze up from the floor, and allowed himself to be stood up. Then, to his horror, Tony loosened his damp tie and pulled it away from around his neck.

“Jeez, remind me to teach you how to tie a tie properly. This is gonna stain bad, but maybe if we get it soaking…” He paused, squinting at something below his ear, then pulled his collar back further to inspect the skin beneath. “Peter, is that...?”

 _Oh no._ “It’s nothing!” he squeaked, clapping a hand over the mark. “I, uh—I fell.”

“You fell,” Tony said disbelievingly. Behind him, he saw Happy and Pepper exchange a knowing look, though neither of them jumped to his defense.

“Everything okay?” May asked curiously as she rejoined them, carrying two steaming platters. Rhodey appeared behind her, holding a large dish with tin foil wrapped over it—the carved turkey, Peter assumed. They were followed by Connor, who triumphantly held a tray of kugel. After he set it on the table, he saw Peter’s exposed skin and froze, a smile slipping off his face.

Tony didn’t respond, a mixture of confusion and surprise warring on his face. May’s eyes locked onto Peter’s, then drifted down to his neck.

“Well,” she said after a moment, with no discernible change in her voice. “Let’s eat!”

Tony rejoined the table as she and Rhodey served the rest of the food, leaving Peter standing by himself and feeling like he’d just been clubbed upside the head.

_Am I dead?_

“Kid.” Tony’s voice snapped him into awareness. The tone was a little stiff. “Come on, before the food gets cold.”

He hurried to table, taking his seat next to Connor. Rhodey sat at one end of the table, with May at the other.

“Thank you, Rhodey and Connor, for saving this dinner from being cooked by me,” May said lightly, earning her a smattering of soft laughs. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble.”

“I had fun,” Connor murmured, in a small voice.

“Yeah, thanks.” Peter’s eyes locked onto Tony, who  wasn’t looking anywhere near him, instead keeping his eyes firmly fixed on May. “Looks really good. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.”

As they dug in, Peter caught sight of May glancing at Connor in the corner of his eye, and he knew that there was going to be a talk before the end of the night. He put the thought out of his mind for the time being, and tried to catch his mentor’s eye, searching for some kind of reaction. Had he pieced everything together?

But Tony didn’t look at Peter, and his face remained as hard as stone for the rest of the night.

* * *

It was easily the most tense, uncomfortable dinner Peter had ever had. Tony had continued to give him the cold shoulder, and he had no idea how to respond to that. Angry Tony was easier to handle than aloof and distant Tony. He would have preferred anger.

But that train of thought led him to things he didn’t want to think about.

Happy and Rhodey left first, departing soon after dinner had ended. Another half hour of thick, unrelenting tension passed in the apartment before Pepper pulled May aside to talk quietly with her.

When they returned several minutes later, she had Peter’s suit folded up in her arms, and said, “I think we’re going to head out too. I’m not feeling too well. Tony?”

“Yep.” He had been standing in the corner, staring off into space, but instantly responded to Pepper’s call and approached the front door, pulling it open. “Long night. Busy day tomorrow. Lots to do. Upgrades and...stuff.”

Pepper smiled weakly at Peter and Connor, who were sitting on the couch as far apart from each other as was physically possible. “It was great to see you all.”

As she headed for the open door, Tony turned his head to address all three hosts. He worked his jaw a few times, before finally saying, “Missed those walnut date loaves, May. Thanks again.”

Then they were gone, but the thick, cloying atmosphere of the room remained. Peter was aware of May still present, standing behind them in the doorway to the kitchen, but he did not make the first move to speak.

She sighed. He heard floorboards creak as she moved, walking into view and sitting on the coffee table in front of them. “So, boys...”

“Mrs. Parker, I—” Connor began apologetically, but May held up one finger, and his mouth snapped shut.

“I’m not mad,” she clarified, and Peter believed that, because when she got angry she was significantly more hysterical. “But if the two of you _are_ going to be that rough, you have _got_ to at least learn how to apply concealer.”

Connor made a wheezing sound like air being let out of a balloon, and Peter’s shoulders slumped as shock and surprise flooded him. “What?”

“I mean, look, I knew you were going to tell me eventually, but I didn’t know you guys were _that_ far along,” she continued, flicking her hair over her shoulder and eyeing them seriously. “You’re using protection, right? You’ve got everything you need? No one’s gonna get pregnant, but—”

 _“May,”_ Peter implored, while Connor continued having a fit. “You...you knew?”

She stared at him disbelievingly. “Did I know that the two teenage boys who seemed to have latched onto each other overnight, consistently threw themselves into trouble for each other, and shared a bedroom, were more than friends? Of course! I was your age once, Peter, and I wasn’t born yesterday.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “Plus, these walls are thinner than you think.”

 _I am dead,_ Peter concurred. _I’m dead and this is Hell._

“I know my nephew,” May said, her expression warming. “You were going to tell me in your own time. I know you would have preferred to have this conversation when you were ready, and not like this, but I love you, and nothing is going to change that.”

“Actually,” Connor coughed, finally recovering. “He’s been ready to tell you. He just forgot. You’re not the only one.”

_Wow, betrayed by my own boyfriend._

May snorted, and then let out a big laugh. “Well, he forgot to keep his bedroom door closed, and that’s how I found out about the Spider-Man thing. So that doesn’t really surprise me.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Gee, I was _going_ to say I love you too, May…”

“Well, _I_ love her, for the record.”

May beamed. “Thank you, Connor. I love you too.”

“And I’ll sleep on the couch from now on.”

Peter turned to give his boyfriend a horrified look, but May simply shook her head. “No, no. Don’t worry about it. Just keep the door open a little more when I’m home, or put a sock on the knob if you really have to.”

 _I have the most embarrassing aunt in the world,_ Peter moaned internally.

Connor shifted a little closer to him, and said, “But, Mr. Stark...”

“Ah.” May pursed her lips. “Well...you didn’t tell him either?”

“I wanted to wait at first,” Peter admitted, nodding. “He still wasn’t the hugest fan of Connor at the time, and I...I didn’t know what to do.”

“We might have undone all of that progress tonight,” Connor pointed out, looking crestfallen.

May ruffled both their hair. “Give him a little time. He’ll understand. Connor, can you get the brownies from the kitchen? They need to be eaten.”

As he rose from the couch to comply, Peter said, “I’m sorry, May.”

She stroked his cheek with her thumb, still smiling. “It’s okay, sweetie. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

“That was a night,” Connor remarked, climbing into the bottom bunk while Peter peeled off his button-down. They were both full of brownies and a little more wine, though personally the alcohol hadn’t affected him at all.

Rather, in the hours after Tony’s departure, his unease and general stress had morphed into an anxious guilt.

“Yeah,” he agreed, without much enthusiasm.

“What’s wrong?” Connor eyed him from the bed, reaching for him. “Come here.”

Peter put his phone on the bedside table and crawled into the bottom bunk, wrapping his arms around Connor. The embrace was returned, and he settled into the inviting circle of warmth.

“I feel bad.” He tucked his chin into his boyfriend’s collarbone. “I hurt Mr. Stark’s feelings. I know I did. I mean, _everyone_ knew about us except for him. That’s gotta sting. _I_ would be hurt. I wouldn’t blame him for hating me.”

“Hey.” The arms tightened around him. “He doesn’t hate you. It was just a mistake. Besides, you’re too cute to hate.”

Peter let out a toneless grunt, appreciative but reluctant to allow himself to feel better.

His phone chirped, and he disentangled himself from Connor to grab it. Unlocking the screen, he read the new text.

_If he makes you happy, I’m glad. - T.S._

That made him feel a little lighter. He typed out a reply and sent it before putting the phone away.

_he does. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you sooner. - P.P._

Then, entwining himself with Connor again, he asked, “Can I sleep here tonight?”

The other boy hummed. “It’ll be a tight fit.”

That earned him a raised eyebrow. “Do you want me to go up to the top bunk, then?”

Instantly his grip tightened again, and he buried himself into Peter’s chest. “Don’t you dare.”

Peter chuckled.

He still needed to make things right with Tony. But, as he let sleep claim him, he knew it wasn’t the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now Tony knows! If you were expecting a more detailed reaction from him, have no fear. The next chapter is entirely set from his POV, and it picks up immediately from the point where he exited this chapter.
> 
> Remember, your comments keep me writing! Do tell me what you think.


	17. Your Love Could Start A War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony processes Connor and Peter's revelation, and unwittingly sets off the countdown to the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Your Love Could Start A War" by The Unlikely Candidates.
> 
> Chapter warnings: None, actually.

In hindsight, Tony was a certifiable moron.

He should _absolutely_ have realized what was _really_ going on. Looking back, there were easily several things Tony could now see had been clues. Peter arguing with him on Connor’s behalf; Connor chasing Tony halfway across the city after Mallen’s attack, just to make sure Peter would be alright; the amount of time the two of them had spent (alone, in a penthouse, for _a whole weekend,_ he reminded himself for good measure); how they had both beaten themselves up for the other being hurt…

Happy and Rhodey had come in a separate car, making Pepper his only companion on the drive home. She’d long mastered the art of handling him, so rather than try and engage while he was working himself up, she simply waited for his silent, stubborn resolve to crack on its own.

This took approximately five minutes.

“Why didn’t he just _tell_ me?” he demanded at the steering wheel. It gave no response. Beside him, Pepper sighed as they pulled to a stop at an intersection.

“I don’t think he knew how, Tony.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t seem surprised,” he commented suspiciously. “Did you already know?”

Pepper bit her lip. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“Peter told Rhodey. Rhodey told me and Happy.”

“Oh, so he _can_ tell people, just not me?” Damn, if that didn’t pierce him right between the ribs. The light turned green, and Tony pressed the accelerator of their car with more force than necessary.

Pepper pursed her lips, making no comment on the sudden thrust. “Aren’t you the one who wanted to throw Connor in jail when you first met?”

“Yeah, but that was then! This is now.”

His eyes were focused on the road, but he knew from the brief silence in the car that she was rolling her eyes at him. “Okay. I know this can’t be great for you, but just...look at it from _their_ perspective. When was the last time you actually _spoke_ to Connor? Or asked Peter about him, even when you thought they were just friends?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Maybe she had a point. It had been nearly a month since Connor had stumbled into their lives, and he could count on one hand the number of times Tony had spoken to the kid directly. Except...

“I don’t dislike Goggles,” he said after a pause. “I mean, I gave him his own suit.”

“Tony, he’s spent the past few _years_ in armor, and from what I understand, he's been kicked around most of his life. Plus, you’re not exactly the greatest at telegraphing your emotions. I tried to drop hints that you’re a man of actions and not words, and maybe he understood that a little, but he also might not have completely seen what you meant your gesture to be. Even if he did...when he woke up after Rikers, he thought he was going to be sent to the Raft.”

His eyes widened. “Jesus, why did he think that?”

“Because he took to heart what you told him in the penthouse. All that talk of redemption...that’s become his mantra, I think. He’ll try on his own, but I don’t think he’s going to truly absolve himself until you _tell_ him he can.”

There was something in her voice that he couldn’t quite place. Tony squinted at her from the corner of his eye, trying to figure it out.

“More than anything, he wants your approval,” she added. “Especially since he’s gotten with Peter.”

Now they were back to the real issue. He scoffed. “Underoos doesn’t need my permission to date anyone. I’m not his father, and even if I was...”

Pepper snorted, as if he’d said something genuinely amusing.

“I’m serious!” Tony insisted. “He’s had his dad, his uncle—”

“Both of whom are, tragically, gone,” she interjected softly. “Now he has you. And you have him. It goes both ways.”

He sighed. There was a tiny, cynical part of him which kept reminding him that he was just the kid’s mentor, and he would do well to remember that. It wasn’t his business who Peter dated. Sure, Connor was a former criminal who used to work for the city’s psychopath of a mayor, but Peter’s first _girl_ friend had been the daughter of a techno-winged arms dealer. That kind of weirdness came with this line of work, but relationships were more Peter’s aunt’s territory. His _family’s_ territory.

Yet despite his cynicism, there was no denying that Peter _constantly_ ignited something paternal within him. It was an instinct which was extremely hard to ignore and hungry for even the slightest indulgence. He’d never been the best at feelings, and he blamed his father for that, but he wasn’t so stunted that he ignored them. Somewhere along the way—between the arguments and the fear, the pride and the respect—Tony Stark had gotten irrevocably attached to Peter Parker.

“I get why it bothers you, not being told.” Pepper reached over to rub his arm. “But at the same time...”

“Yeah,” he agreed thickly. “At the same time, I didn’t make it any easier for them.”

They lapsed into silence for several moments, as he drove them further and further to the city’s edge. Then, Pepper asked, “So, if you don’t dislike Connor, what _do_ you think of him?”

“Well...”

He certainly wasn’t the flighty street kid Tony had met in the beginning. He’d committed to fighting Negative, if his near-death experience was any indicator. But more than that, he’d committed to leaving his old life _behind._ He went to school, he had friends, and for once he had a stable home life. He even wanted to get rid of his Extremis—Tony hadn’t missed that hopeful spark in his eyes when he’d offered his blood.

All of that had to earn him points, right?

But _Peter_ hadn’t needed points. All it took was a few grainy YouTube videos and Tony had slammed a new suit on him and hauled him off to Germany. If he could take that back, he would—Peter was too young to have gotten involved in the Accords business. But for all Tony called his protege a kid, he’d treated _Connor_ as an adult, as someone who should have known better. Except he wasn’t. He was the same age as Peter, only sixteen, and he’d been _thirteen_ when Negative injected him with Extremis—not much older than Harley Keener had been when he’d stumbled across Tony hiding in his barn.

That thought led him to picturing Harley in Connor’s place, torn apart on the inside as Extremis burned its way through him. The image made his stomach curl in on itself.

Wasn’t Connor’s pain just as important as the deaths of everyone else experimented on? Negative and Mallen were the ones who deserved judgment, not their victims—and that included the other Inner Demons, despite what they’d done.

“I...I maybe think he deserves a little more credit.”

Pepper hummed approvingly, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smirk.

They didn’t talk about Peter or Connor for the rest of the drive. But hours later, when they finally reached the compound, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.

_If he makes you happy, I’m glad. - T.S._

He got Peter’s response almost immediately.

_he does. i’m sorry i didn’t tell you sooner. - P.P._

A small, hopeful smile tugged at his lips. He hadn’t exactly taken the opportunity to know the kid behind the suit and the powers. It was no wonder Peter had been reluctant to fill him in on their relationship.

But maybe it wasn’t too late to fix that.

* * *

Pepper went straight to bed, but Tony was too restless to join her. There was work to do.

The lights came on automatically as he descended into his lab. Throwing Peter’s suit onto an empty chair as he passed, he approached Friday’s Nexus nestled in its basin at the back of the room. The light inside it had dimmed to a muted glow.

“Wakey wakey, Fri.” He snapped his fingers twice, the sharp sounds echoing in the silent room.

Her light turned brighter. _“Boss, I am incapable of sleep.”_

Several holographic screens materialized in front of him—progress reports since his last check-in. “Just an expression. Any updates?”

 _“Yes, in fact.”_ She highlighted one screen in particular and enlarged it for him to read. _“Connor’s blood was very useful. With his live sample, and after pulling the original Extremis strain from cold storage, I was able to identify all contingencies present in his Extremis. I have prepared a countermeasure for every single one and condensed them into a formula. With the nanotech safely neutralized, undoing the alterations of the organic cells is a simple process.”_

“Hm.” His eyes lingered on the screens for a moment, but then he walked over to the cabinet on the other side of the lab, and opened its doors. “When I fixed Pepper, she had to get the cure injected. Same thing this time around?”

_“That method should still work. I predict this cure will have a 94.7% chance of success.”_

Tony paused in the act of pulling a vial from a drawer. “I wouldn’t say no to a full hundred, Friday.”

_“Unlike Aldrich Killian, Negative has modified his Extremis to be extremely fluid and adaptable to change. That is why it produced such a wide variety of abilities in his Inner Demons. There are no guarantees when it comes to that kind of unpredictability.”_

“Noted.” Using a water bottle inside the cabinet, he filled the vial and plugged it into a port on Friday’s Nexus display. She would triple-filter and sterilize the water before using it as a liquid base for the cure.

Using a needle had come about as the most practical way to administer the cure. Intramuscular shots had a quick reaction, and were less dangerous. Other alternatives had been microsurgery, an experimental type of dialysis, and radiation exposure. He hadn’t been confident in any of those methods.

“How long until it’s ready?”

_“A few hours, boss. After I manufacture doses, I will also need to run simulations before I can approve live testing.”_

He could live with a few hours. While Tony wasn’t going to argue against Connor’s desire to not have powers, in truth he’d started developing the cure as a line of defense against Negative and his goons. Confrontation with them was inevitable, and as much as Tony hated the Syndicate, he also knew most of the Inner Demons had been forced into servitude like Connor. If necessary, he wasn’t above lethal force, but with this cure, maybe it wouldn’t come to that.

Negative was a different story. As was Mallen. But the less blood he had on his hands, the better.

At the thought of them and their attacks on Peter, he asked, “How’s our patient?”

_“That was to be my next update to you. See for yourself.”_

Friday’s Nexus flashed a pale green, and a small, white cube emerged from its depths.

Tony’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Karen?”

The cube flickered briefly, as if simulating an acknowledgement of his words. _“Hello, Mr. Stark.”_

 _“Reconstruction was a difficult process,”_ Friday commented. _“The damage was not unlike that done to Jarvis by Ultron. But Jarvis was able to escape into the Internet, while Karen had no such option. By the time you were able to find her and Peter, the corruption had intensified to a severe degree. With how long it had taken me to salvage something, I did not expect Karen to have survived.”_

“Evidently she’s tougher than you thought,” Tony said, a small smile tugging at his lips. Peter would be overjoyed to learn Karen was still kicking. “Nice work, Friday.”

The major upgrades to the Spider-Man suit weren’t due until tomorrow, but he might as well install Karen now. Tony grabbed Peter’s mask from the chair, and turned it around until he found a small, almost invisible bump in the material of the fabric. He pushed it aside with his thumb, revealing a small port, and walked back over to the Nexus. From there, he pulled out a long, thin cable and plugged it into the mask.

The suit’s systems came online, and a third synthetic voice said, _“Ugh.”_

 _“Good evening, Jocasta,”_ Karen said cheerfully. _“How has Peter been?”_

Jocasta’s avatar materialized next to her—a softly glowing, red pyramid. _“He’s fine. Please tell me I don’t have to share this monitor with you both. It’s making me claustrophobic.”_

Tony seriously doubted that. Jocasta was dramatic, but her programming wasn’t so sophisticated that she could develop anxiety. Still, he said, “Don’t get your circuits in a bunch, I’m getting you your own place in a bit.”

_“Oh, good.”_

Against the wall beside the Nexus was a small desk, the drawer of which Tony pulled open. It contained all his various U.I. programs he’d built over the years, and each of them were stored on their own chip.  He rifled through them. Tadashi, Veronica…there. He removed Jocasta’s and made to shut the drawer, but paused. Then he took all the chips out and spread them out on the desk surface.

Turning back to the Nexus, he plugged Jocasta’s chip into another port on the display. Her avatar disappeared, and her chip beeped approvingly. Removing it, Tony placed it on the desk with the others.

As he did so, a little light blinked from the device’s center, and then projected a miniature hologram of Jocasta’s avatar. The pyramid flickered rapidly, and she said, _“Finally!”_

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t pretend you had a terrible time. Pete’s a good kid.”

 _“I suppose,”_ she agreed reluctantly, and he _swore_ that was embarrassment in her voice. _“For my first time out in the field...I could have been paired with a much worse partner.”_

That earned her a snort. Tony snapped his fingers at the other two chips, pulling them from dormancy. Their lights came on, projecting unique avatars—Tadashi as a purple six-pointed star, and Veronica as a green diamond.

Since installing Friday into his armor, he’d taken the liberty of outfitting each chip with a projector and a more sophisticated storage device, so the programs could verbally communicate with each other even if they weren’t connected or in use. Rhodey teased him about it, and Happy thought it was creepy, but...ever since losing Jarvis, he’d come to appreciate how precious his programs were. Perhaps he was humanizing them more than necessary, but they were something like family to him.

Next to Friday, Veronica was the oldest of them. She was as much Bruce’s brainchild as Tony’s, created as an independent program designed to operate the Hulkbuster armor. But after assisting Tony with his showdown against the overgrown zucchini in Africa, he’d benched her. The Mark 49 armor, or the Hulkbuster 2.0, had been in development since Sokovia, but with the Accords and Siberia, and the general craziness of his life, it had fallen down the list of his priorities.

Tadashi and Jocasta had been built the same way he designed Friday, by copying the base structure of Jarvis’ central matrix and tweaking it from there. There was a fair amount of unpredictability when it came to programming personality and identity, so the programs often ended up taking a mind of their own after birth. He’d almost installed Tadashi as Karen’s temporary replacement, but...Jocasta was more independent. She was certainly the most abrasive of all the programs, but also the one most likely to take initiative when required.

He hadn’t expected to be so grateful for that decision, until Peter got hurt at Rikers.

 _“Hello, Jocasta,”_ Veronica greeted. There was a Scandinavian lilt to her words. _“It is good to see you.”_

 _“You must have learned so much.”_ Tadashi’s soft, polite Japanese accent sounded wistful.

 _“Yes, I’m sure all my data on the intricacies of human courtship will be invaluable,”_ Jocasta said dryly, and Tony paused in his return to the Nexus.

“You _took notes_ on Peter and Connor?”

_“No, I simply watched them. There was very little else for me to do.”_

_“Boss,”_ Friday called, pulling his attention from the programs. _“There is more. With Karen’s help, I have restarted the Baby Monitor Protocol. The footage of that day which was originally lost, it has been recovered.”_

“That’s...” He meant to say that was great, but as the words sunk in he understood them fully. “That file the kid mentioned. It’s there?”

_“Correct.”_

“So we have the inside scoop on Negative’s whole rise to power? The video Peter said would throw Li in jail?”

_“Yes, boss.”_

If she was composed of something solid, Tony could have _kissed_ Friday. As it was, he did laugh and clap his hands together. “Then let’s see what we’re working with!”

_“Commencing playback.”_

* * *

His first impression of the footage was that it exceeded all his expectations.

Peter had already told him what was on the tape, but he hadn’t been exaggerating—it had _everything._ It showed how Silvermane got ahold of Extremis, how he and Martin Li began working together on it, and how Li got dosed with the stuff. It even had journals written by Li himself, and a rough timeline of events which made sense.

The second time he watched it, he was less enthusiastic.

Nowhere in the video did it actually _show_ Li transforming into Negative or killing Silvermane. It would bring heaps of suspicion and investigation down upon him, but a talented lawyer _might_ be able to argue their way around it being used in court.

Hammerhead’s testimony would have helped, were he still alive. Spider-Man couldn’t very well take the stand without his identity being exposed. Without them, the video was incredibly damning, but he wasn’t confident it would be enough.

After watching the footage a third time, he felt the impulsive, long-dormant urge for a strong drink.

Tony thought he’d made his peace with creating Killian. As he’d told Bruce, he had created demons that night in Switzerland. The irony of that statement was not lost on him now. He really _had_ created the Inner Demons.

Killian’s partnership with Maya, their work on Extremis, it wouldn’t have happened without him. He knew that, he’d paid for it, and after destroying A.I.M. he’d moved on. But Killian’s path had led him to Silvermane for funding. Without Silvermane, there wouldn’t be a Negative. Without Negative, a lot of people would still be alive.

Once again, another trail of death and destruction led back to the great Tony Stark.

He set to work, scrubbing the video of any sounds or images which could hint to Spider-Man’s identity. If asked, he’d be honest about the alterations. It would invite scrutiny, but Peter wasn’t getting outed, or involved anymore in this, if Tony had anything to say about it. The evidence would go to the courts. If Negative was going to hide behind his Martin Li persona, Tony would take that down first.

Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely confident in the plan. It wasn’t a showdown on the Norco, or duel at the Stark Expo, but it was least likely to get people hurt. Tony had gotten his fill of climactic battles a long time ago. As much as he wanted to punch Negative in his stupid face _multiple_ times, he wasn’t going to endanger people by giving in to that urge. But the idea of just _surrendering_ the evidence to be handled by law enforcement seemed almost deceptively easy. Anyone could be on Negative’s payroll, or under his weird, powerful influence. He would need to give it to someone he could trust.

He could leak it to a newspaper instead, let them run it in a story, but that could take days to report, if it got through at all. Better to find a reliable cop.

Editing took hours to finish, but once he was done, he had Friday pull up information on the two officers who had been with Peter and Connor during the Rikers heist.

Jefferson Davis and Yuri Watanabe. He’d glanced at their files briefly when the boys had first been brought to the compound, but hadn’t paid them much mind. Now, he inspected them more closely.

Yuri Watanabe was a rookie, fresh out of the academy. She excelled in all fields, graduating with some of the highest test scores in NYPD history. She was too green to have any connections in the force, and as a beat cop it was unlikely that Negative had targeted her to be influenced. Plus, according to Peter, she’d _shot_ him.

But Watanabe was still in the hospital, recovering from her wounds. Apparently she’d made progress, but not enough that she had been discharged. Her partner on the other hand…

Jefferson Davis had been in the force for nearly ten years. He had an exceptional number of arrests and convictions, and a reputation for being a by-the-book man who lived by the rule of the law. To his surprise, Davis’ file also included a brother, Aaron—a criminal who had once given Peter information on the Vulture. He also had a wife, Rio Morales, and a son, Miles.

It wasn’t without risk, but at least Tony and Davis had a shared connection in Spider-Man. He wouldn’t get better odds approaching any other cop in the city.

As he finished putting a copy of the file onto a memory stick, just after three in the morning, Karen materialized from Friday’s display. _“Mr. Stark?”_

“Hm?” Blinking fatigue from his eyes, Tony glanced over at her from his workbench.

_“You have outfitted me with a timer to monitor Peter and ensure that he is getting between nine and nine and a half hours of sleep every night. That is the recommended amount for the average teenager. However, Friday tells me that you last slept for approximately three hours, and that was exactly 33 hours, 43 minutes ago.”_

He had a funny feeling he knew where this was going. “And?”

_“Are you not tired?”_

Tony huffed, turning back to his work. “I’m always tired, Karen. Sleeping isn’t going to help that.”

She seemed satisfied by this, until he heard her say, very quietly, _“Perhaps, if sleep is not that important, I could conserve more power in the Spider-Man suit by deactivating the sleep-tracking function.”_

Tony turned back around to stare at her. The little holographic white cube that was Karen blinked back at him innocently.

“Did Pepper put you up to this?”

_“I am bound to this monitor. I have no way to communicate with Miss Potts. Would you like Friday to call her?”_

_The next time I give a program with an adaptive consciousness to someone,_ Tony grumbled internally, _it’s not going to be a teenager._

“No, Karen. I’ll go to sleep, I just...I have to do something first.”

* * *

Getting Davis’ address had been ridiculously easy—the NYPD’s servers had security as flimsy as balsa wood. He lived with his wife and son in northern Queens, not terribly far from the Parkers.

After he touched down in front of their apartment, Tony quickly deactivated his armor. As it folded into its dormant state around his torso, he pulled out his cell phone and put it to his ear.

“Friday, call him.”

The line rang twice before he answered, groggily. _“Davis.”_

“Good morning, officer,” Tony said, casually leaning against a telephone pole on his right. “Not on the night shift, then? I was hoping you’d already be up.”

 _“Who is this? How did you get my number?”_ He sounded much more awake now.

“Well, to answer both questions, I’m Tony Stark.”

There was a small pause. _“Stark.”_

“Yup, I’m outside your apartment. See for yourself.”

He caught a flicker of movement from a window two stories above the building’s front door. In the darkness, he made out the silhouette of a man looking down at him. Tony waved a little.

“Hi. Since you’re up, do you have a minute to chat?”

The line went dead. Tony blinked, pulling away his phone to stare accusingly at it. Did he just…?

A moment later, the front door opened. Davis stood in the foyer, glaring at him. He was every bit as serious and stony-faced as Tony had expected him to be, though the effect was slightly ruined by his pinstripe pajama pants and his T-shirt, which had the image of a kitten dangling from a tree branch with the words _HANG IN THERE!_ emblazoned underneath.

“Why are you at my house, Mr. Stark?” Davis asked, crossing his arms.

Tony glanced up and down the sidewalk, on either side of him. “Before we get into that, mind going for a walk, to somewhere less open? Not really keen on being any more suspicious than I already am.”

“I’d say that ship has sailed,” Davis responded dryly, but he did not budge.

“Daddy?”

Tony paused upon hearing the youthful voice, and from behind the ajar door, a young boy poked his head out. He had Davis’ eyes.

“Miles!” Davis immediately whirled around and dropped to one knee so he could look his son at eye level. “What are you doing awake?”

“I heard you,” Miles replied, and Tony felt a little guilty over that. The kid couldn’t be more than five years old. He caught sight of Tony over his father’s shoulder, and his eyes widened. “Is that—”

“Just work stuff, buddy. Go on back to bed. I’ll be up in a moment.”

Miles shuffled his feet and focused his gaze on Davis again, clearing unwilling to part. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

This was apparently acceptable to him, because with another quick look at Tony, Miles disappeared behind the door, accompanied by the sound of footsteps retreating up stairs.

“Cute kid,” Tony commented, as Davis stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

“Let’s talk,” he said stiffly, turning left down the sidewalk before Tony could answer.

They walked around the corner of the apartment building, and into a narrow alleyway. There was a dumpster against the adjacent building, and once they rounded it, the two were nearly invisible to passersby, or curious neighbors.

“Alright, Mr. Stark.” Davis fixed him with an unfriendly stare. “What do you want?”

“Well, I want a lot of things.” He sighed heavily. “Y’know, I want world peace and I want Ben & Jerry’s to name an ice cream after me, but right now I’ll settle for Negative in jail.”

His eyebrows rose slightly, but otherwise he was still as a statue.

“I know who he is,” Tony continued, hoping to get a reaction. “I know what he’s done, and I’ve got proof of it.”

“So why haven’t you armored up and brought him in?” A muscle twitched in the officer’s jaw. “I’d say the dude’s Avenger-worthy.”

“Things don’t work like that anymore.” He _could_ have called Ross, but that would drag Peter and Connor into it, and put them under the Accords’ microscope. Plus, he’d rather swallow raw sewage than talk to the Secretary of State again. “Besides, Negative’s got his hands everywhere. People are either in his pockets or downright brainwashed.”

Davis scoffed, and Tony felt a hot flash of annoyance.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“I saw what he can do. I believe you. But why are you coming to me about this? I’m not the Chief of Police. I’m not even a detective.”

“Because the higher up the totem pole you are, the more likely you work for him. Besides...” Tony hesitated. “Spider-Man trusted you.”

At that, Davis’ expression morphed into something peculiar—a kind of reluctant appreciation that was almost mistaken for a grimace. “He took a bad hit that day. I’m sorry.”

“So did your partner. How is she?”

His eyes softened a little. “Pissed that she’s still in bed, but otherwise fine. Yuri’s a fighter. She’ll be one of the greats, someday.”

Silence fell between them, and then Tony fished the memory stick out of his pocket, holding it out. “This has everything on Negative. And I do mean everything. Get it to someone you trust, and take the bastard down quick. If you _do_ need Avenger support, I’ll be there.”

Davis considered this for a moment, then nodded. He reached out and took hold of the stick, but Tony didn’t relinquish it.

“I mean it,” he insisted. “You _have_ to be careful who you tell. He’s got people everywhere.”

“I got it,” Davis said, a little harshly. “But are you gonna tell me who he is, or do I have to open this to find out?”

“Martin Li.”

Shock passed over Davis’ expression.

“Martin Li,” he repeated, letting go of the stick. “Do you understand? Right now he doesn’t even know these files _exist,_ and that’s our biggest advantage.”

“Yeah,” Davis mumbled, his fingers curling into a fist around the device. “I...I know some people. I trust them.”

“Good.”

There was another pause between them, and Tony was just about to excuse himself when Davis said, “You know, I’ve never been the biggest fan of you people. Civilians suiting up to take down terrorists and carjackers. Being vigilantes. I always say it breeds anarchy. But Spider-Man’s starting to change my mind.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “Kid’s got a way about him.”

To his surprise Davis chuckled knowingly, as if there were another layer to that statement. “Well, from one father to another—good job, Mr. Stark. And goodnight.”

Before Tony could correct him, or even _begin_ to formulate a response to that, he turned and left the alley, heading back to his home.

_I’m not his father._

But there was no one to tell that to except himself, so he wordlessly activated his armor, and rocketed into the night.

* * *

After he got back to the compound he slept fitfully, but for eight hours, so maybe he actually _had_ needed to sleep.

When he finally shambled out of his bedroom, yawning, he asked, “Friday, anyone home?”

_“Good afternoon, boss. It is currently 12:21 PM. Miss Potts is at the Stark Industries New York branch HQ, along with Mr. Hogan. Colonel Rhodes accompanied them, I believe to exercise his legs around the city.”_

He scratched his stomach lazily as he padded toward the kitchen. “Any updates on the Li situation?”

_“Checking now.”_

While she searched, he started up the coffee brewer, and it began to drip. Davis should have gotten the information to someone by now. Maybe, if Tony was lucky, he could watch the afternoon news coverage of it while he enjoyed a late breakfast.

_“Boss, you should see this.”_

A holographic screen materialized in front of him abruptly, causing Tony to blink and glower at the offensive projection. “What’s...”

It was a news clip, timestamped three hours ago. The video depicted a reporter standing at the sidewalk corner. Behind her was an intersection, which had been blocked off and was still littered with what looked like metal debris and the mangled remains of two cars.

_“Police are still working to understand the specifics of what happened, but we do know that at around 7:15 this morning, an unidentified driver performed a head-on collision into a patrol car. The driver of the other vehicle, Officer Jefferson Davis, remains in a medically induced coma. Davis is a ten-year veteran of the NYPD whose partner, Officer Yuri Watanabe, also remains hospitalized after an incident at Rikers Island back in the beginning of November. Authorities are still investigating why—”_

Tony hurled his empty mug. It passed harmlessly through the screen, which promptly vanished, and struck the cabinet beyond, shattering into thousands of tiny porcelain shards.

Friday was saying something, but he didn’t care—his blood roared in his ears, drowning out everything else in a cacophony of blistering fury. Without thinking he lashed out, grabbing the brewer and hurling it across the kitchen with a roar. Coffee grounds and bits of plastic scattered across the floor, but he paid the mess no mind. He simply stood there with trembling hands, breathing heavily, wilfully resistant of Friday’s attempts to ground him back to reality.

_“Boss, your heart rate is dangerously elevated. You must—”_

“Forget about my fucking heart, Friday!”

This wasn’t a coincidence. Davis miscalculated. He told someone who worked for Negative, and Negative tried to silence him. Tony couldn’t shake the image of five year old Miles, peering around his dad at him with the same wide-eyed innocence that he’d seen when he first met Peter.

And now, he might have to grow up without a father.

Another coffin built in Tony’s name.

“Do you have the original copy of the video?”

_“I must insist—”_

“DO YOU HAVE IT OR NOT?” he shouted, glaring at the ceiling.

She didn’t have a face to express emotion, but there was the briefest flicker of hesitation before she replied. _“I do.”_

He leaned against the kitchen island, desperate for support as adrenaline made his legs shake. “Duplicate it. Don’t stop making copies. Scatter them all on the web.”

_“Anyplace in particular?”_

Tony slammed his fist on the countertop. “Everywhere! Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, email it to all the newspapers and networks from the east coast to the west coast! Post it on fucking PornHub!”

He tried to do this the right way. He _tried._ But Negative had him at every turn, and no matter what he did, people _kept_ getting hurt.

Fine. No more subtlety. No more playing by the rules. Negative cared so much about his identity, but even he couldn’t stop Tony from uploading the truth to every corner of the Internet. But that was only the beginning. Next, he was going to fly down to F.E.A.S.T. and take in Negative himself. He’d take the heat for it from Ross, or the President, or whoever else had a problem with it.

He should have just done this in the first place, consequences be damned. He’d pay in every drop of blood he had if it meant this madness would come to end.

But his plan of vengeance was cut off when, abruptly, the lights went out.

The backup generators kicked on immediately, illuminating the kitchen with a soft fluorescent light, and Tony glanced around. “Friday?”

For a moment, he thought the blackout had taken her as well, but then: _“The compound has gone completely dark. Most of my security protocols—”_

Then her voice dissolved into garbled static, and died.

“Friday!” Without thinking, he launched himself out of the kitchen. He took the stairs to the lab three at a time, bursting through the door and turning to investigate her Nexus—and immediately froze in his tracks.

The device was still on, though Friday’s avatar had vanished, but what drew his attention was the man standing next to it—white suit, shadowy skin, and aiming a gun straight at him. His other hand was on the Nexus, crackling with dark energy. He removed it as he addressed the lab's owner.

**“Hello, Stark.”**

Tony didn’t move a muscle, but he did narrow his eyes.

 **“So this is where Iron Man puts his feet up,”** he said, his eyes darting around the lab. **“Fascinating.”**

“How’d you get in?” Tony demanded.

 **“Laser can only appear in places he can visualize, but he is** **_exceptionally_ ** **quick at mapping entire buildings. It truly is useful to have a teleporter at your beck and call. Add a little blackout, courtesy of Mallen, and here I am.”** Negative pointed his gun at the desk and chair beside him. **“Please.”**

Not really having a choice, Tony slowly walked over and sat down. As he did, he caught sight of the chips containing the other programs—he’d been so caught up in his work with the files on Negative, he’d forgotten to put them away. Jocasta was closest to him.

**“Hands on your lap, if you please. I don’t want to have to cut them off. Let’s keep things...civil.”**

With a show of exaggerating, Tony raised his hands up, waving them once to show they were empty. Then he complied, laying them palms-down on his thighs.

The programs were contained in their chips, but those devices still had limited sensory awareness. Jocasta would respond to the sound of his voice, so all he had to do was talk. That was easy. He was good at talking. “You knew about Davis and the files.”

Negative raised one eyebrow. **“How do you know Davis wasn’t working for me the whole time?”**

 _Come on, come on, wake up…_ “If he was, you wouldn’t have gotten rid of him so publicly.”

That elicited a laugh. **“Good deduction. I should know better than to try and fool Tony Stark.”** Then the smile on his face vanished, replaced by a hardness that sent a chill down Tony’s spine. **“That was not the only file. You would have made a duplicate. Where is it?”**

“Actually, let me ask _you_ a question,” Tony countered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tiny light in Jocasta’s chip _finally_ blink on, signifying she was no longer in sleep mode. But now what? She only had a small light projector, what could see do with it? “Say I give it to you. What then? What’s your plan? Because eventually the truth is going to get out. Your charade’s falling apart.”

 **“My plan,”** Negative hissed, **“is to make you** **_understand_ ** **, Tony. If anyone could possibly understand me, it’s you. We are both men burdened by the weight of our intelligence.”**

“Speak for yourself,” he yawned. “That sounds exhausting.”

Negative’s lip curled. **“As a boy, growing up in a hovel, I swore I would make things better. I clawed my way to success, and I built my first F.E.A.S.T. shelter with my own bare hands. When its doors opened, I tried to do things the** **_right_ ** **way. I helped who I could. But everywhere, there were those who made things difficult. The rich and powerful refused to part with a fraction of their fortune, even for a good cause. The addicts and beggars who stumbled into my shelter took advantage of my kindness, and would steal whatever they could. I hated them all. People are selfish, no matter where they come from. That includes Silvermane. He hired me to work for him, paid me with money that would have supported F.E.A.S.T. But he suspected duplicity where there was none, and so I became his first test subject. When the pain ended, he was dead on the floor, and I had...evolved.”**

Negative stepped even closer, and Tony’s eyes followed the gun as he moved. Outside Negative’s peripheral, Jocasta’s light flashed three times.

He didn’t give a shit about Negative’s story or any justification for his atrocities, but if it kept him talking… “Then what?”

 **“Suddenly, I had power beyond measure—and control. The rich were made generous, and the thieves were made obedient. F.E.A.S.T. became successful overnight, and it didn’t need to stop there. No one could deny my will, and why should they? I am a** **_god._ ** **The more people I could influence, the better I can make things for everyone. You want to know my plan? My plan is to not stop. I have spun a web of power throughout this city, and it will only continue to grow. Each person I dominate spreads my influence, and the uninitiated flock to me like sheep. I am their shepherd. I will guide them. First a city, then a state. Then a country. A continent. The entire** **_world!_ ** **All of it will be better!”**

Tony’s eyes widened disbelievingly. Negative was _insane._ “You expect me to believe that you started all of this out of _charity?_ Seriously?”

 **“No, not charity. I have moved beyond charity. This is** **_necessity._ ** **People are weak, foolish, lost creatures. They require a guiding hand. They require control. But to do that, I needed agents to enforce my will. I needed soldiers. So I began the testing.”** Negative paused, humming softly. When he next spoke, his tone was almost nostalgic. **“It was an omen, I think, that only seven of them survived. My seven deadly sins. My Inner Demons.”**

“You killed one of them yourself.” Jocasta’s light flashed again, this time twice. Was she counting down?

 **“Yes, Sable was an...unfortunate casualty to ensure their loyalty. Or so I thought.”** He pressed the muzzle of the gun against Tony’s cheek. **“You and Spider-Man have been thorns in my side for far too long. Animus turned against me. Hammerhead jeopardized my identity, forcing me revealing the Inner Demons just to silence him. New York** **_knows_ ** **that Negative exists now. That threatens everything I have worked for!”**

Tony could have _laughed_ at that. “You think killing me is the solution? Too many people know the truth now. Welcome to the revolution, Martin. You’re on the wrong side of it.”

Jocasta blinked once, and Tony had a split second to catch up.

_Three...two...one!_

He slammed his eyes shut just as her projector let out a massive flash of red light. Negative, blinded, turned instinctively toward the source of the distraction, and that was when Tony struck. He slapped the weapon away and threw out a jab to the face, hitting Negative squarely in the nose. Then he turned for the door, ready to make a run for it—

A black hand wrapped around his throat, and Tony let out an undignified gurgle as he was lifted off the ground. He struggled uselessly, trying to fight back or make a sound, but Negative’s grip was like vibranium, and he’d lost too much air to make a sound.

**“Defiant to the end. How heroic. I’d ask if you have any last words, Stark, but because of you, I have more work to—”**

A ringtone cut him off. Negative’s eyes darted down, where inside one of the pockets, his phone had gone off. Ignoring his struggles, he reached inside and pulled out the phone.

 **“‘Hey, Mr. Stark, are we still meeting today after school?’”** he read aloud, and Tony’s blood froze in his veins. **“A text message from Peter Parker.”**

“In...tern...” he choked out desperately.

Negative stared at him, apparently not fooled by the excuse. His eyes narrowed, and though it was hard to read his distorted face, Tony could swear he was trying to remember something.

 **“I met a Peter Parker at Midtown,”** he said quietly. **“Shortly before Spider-Man and Animus interfered with the assault on Rikers.”**

Then he looked past Tony, at the Spider-Man suit folded up on the workbench. When he spoke, he sounded disgusted.

**“I knew it was too much to hope that I had killed him.”**

He released his hold. Tony dropped to the floor, gasping for breath, and wheezed out, “No...just...an intern...”

 **“I don’t think so,”** Negative hissed. His pale, colorless eyes were blown wide with fascinated triumph, and his mouth curved into a wicked smile. **“I’ve changed my mind, Stark. I’m not going to kill you, because Spider-Man is still alive. He is the cause of everything. He turned Animus against me. He exposed my identity to you, and that knowledge has begun to spread through the city like an infection. The only way to stop an infection is to cut it out. So you will help me kill Peter Parker, and anyone else who threatens my reign. Only after that, my new and loyal servant, will I grant you the mercy of death.”**

His eyes widened. _No—PETER!_

Then Negative seized him by the arm, his hands flaring up with black energy. Toxic darkness cascaded over Tony, cold pain stabbing deep into the recesses of his mind, and he knew nothing but the void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Strange would say, we're in the endgame now.
> 
> I'd be surprised if some people didn't expect this to happen. I mean, the villain is a dude who can brainwash people, did you seriously expect me to NOT have him do that to one of the main characters?
> 
> As always, your comments keep me writing! I still gotta finish the last chapter...


	18. Claim Your Weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony takes Peter and Connor to the compound, where Negative's plan for revenge is revealed. Backed into a corner, Peter makes a choice that could have terrifying consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Claim Your Weapons" by Christian Reindl feat. Atrel
> 
> Chapter warnings: violence, character death.
> 
> Early(ish) update! I have a really busy day tomorrow so rather than wait until the end of tomorrow to post this I thought I would just do it a bit earlier than normal.
> 
> Remember, the chapter warnings above apply for ALL remaining chapters. I'm excited to show you what's waiting for you at the end of this chapter. A LOT happens in these 8k words.

Ever since returning from the compound, Peter had become used to his life's new routine. Wake up, go to school, spend time with MJ and Ned and his boyfriend, do homework, spend the evening with May, then go to bed. Rinse, repeat. Spider-Man had slipped into the background. He _was_ eager to get back to patrolling, but a small part of him was really enjoying the break. Still, he reasoned with himself, he _did_ have a responsibility.

Then Thanksgiving happened, and that responsibility decided to rear its head.

The very next day after the fateful dinner, he and his friends walked down Midtown’s steps, MJ asked, “So, what do you losers have planned for the day?”

Ned shrugged. “Nothing, since you canceled decathlon.”

She huffed. “I didn’t _cancel_ it. Mr. Harrington says we should have a team-building exercise, but without all the quizzing, so we’re doing...something. Not sure what yet. Maybe go to a park or something.”

“I promised Mr. Stark I’d go to the compound and do, uh...internship stuff,” Peter said, glancing warily at the throng of departing students around them. “Sorry, MJ. I thought it was canceled too.”

He was half-convinced that after the previous night, Tony would ask him to reschedule. But when Peter had texted him a few hours ago he'd responded almost instantly, and with surprising enthusiasm.

“That’s okay. From what you told us about Thanksgiving, sounds like you got some ‘splaining to do.”

Connor nudged his arm. “Speaking of which...”

Beyond the gated entrance of Midtown, parked at the curb, was a jet-black Rolls-Royce. It wasn’t normally the car Happy picked him up in, but it was ostentatious enough it could only belong to _one_ person.

Sure enough, when the four of them approached the car’s tinted window, it rolled down to reveal Tony. He flashed them a smile. “Hey, look, you brought an entourage.”

Peter blinked, and struggled to hide a confused frown. He looked...normal. Like the Thanksgiving dinner debacle hadn’t been _just_ last night.

Maybe he finally got a good night’s sleep for once.

“Mr. Stark!” Ned was fanboying, bouncing up and down on his heels. “I—it’s—my name’s—wow—”

“Your name is wow?” Tony lowered his sunglasses to eye him. “Kidding, I know it’s Ned. You must be MJ, then.”

Her expression and tone morphed into a perfect deadpan. “No, actually, I’m Ned.”

The cool, casual expression faltered and slipped off Tony’s face for a moment, and Peter realized that sometimes MJ could be _too_ convincing. “She’s kidding, Mr.—”

“Tony,” he corrected breezily. “No worries, just making sure I don’t owe anyone an apology.”

“Where’s Happy?” Peter asked curiously.

“Out driving Pepper and Rhodey. I thought I’d give you a ride to the compound myself.” His gaze slid over to Connor, who seemed to shrink under the gaze. “You wanna come too, Goggles?”

His boyfriend very visibly gulped, apparently incapable of a verbal reply.

Tony arched one eyebrow. “Come on, there’s room in the car. I think it’s time we have a talk, anyways.”

Ouch. Okay, yeah, Thanksgiving definitely hadn’t been forgotten.

“Sure,” Connor managed, glancing between him and Peter. “I guess I’ll...take the backseat.”

He shuffled awkwardly around the car, getting in on the driver side. Peter bade farewell to Ned and MJ—who were wearing identical expressions of both amusement _and_ sympathy—before climbing into the front passenger seat.

Tony rolled up the window, and pulled the car out into traffic. As he drove, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, almost as if he were nervous. Behind him, he could feel Connor’s eyes glued to the back of his head, evidently waiting to follow whatever lead Peter started. But he had _no idea_ what to say, so all he could do was sit there and stew in the tension until the car pulled to a stop at a red light.

“So,” Tony said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. His eyes were locked on the car in front of them. “You two...are...”

“Dating,” he confirmed, nodding.

“Yup,” Connor murmured softly from the back, popping his lips on the _P._

“Right. Then, it’s not just a...” He drummed on the steering wheel faster as he attempted to come up with the right words. “A benefit.”

Peter frowned, deflating as confusion replaced anxiety. “What?”

“You know...” Tony started to gesture something, but then he just mashed his hands together, and its meaning was lost. “Friends with benefits. Casual sex. Like on Grindr, or whatever it’s called.”

Oh. _Oh._ “No!” Peter protested, blushing furiously.

“What’s Grindr?” he heard Connor quietly wonder from the backseat.

The light turned green, and Tony urged the car forward as he let out an amused snort. “Just checking. You’ve never struck me as someone who goes for that, but...I was a teenager once too. Gotta make sure you’re being safe and all.”

First May, now his mentor? This was a nightmare. “Can we talk about something else? Like, _literally_ anything else,” Peter begged.

“Alright, alright. Wasn’t why I brought it up anyway.” Tony smirked a little, but then exhaled loudly as if preparing for something. “I shouldn’t have given you the cold shoulder last night, Pete. That’s not okay. It’s…” He hesitated, then continued anyway. “It’s something my dad would have done. If there’s one thing I want to _not_ be...”

“Well, we should have told you,” Peter murmured. The car wasn’t exactly ideal location for this conversation, but if they were going down this route… “I should have—”

“Should have what? Told Iron Man that you started dating the guy he wanted to put in jail less than two months ago?” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “No offense, Goggles.”

“Um, none taken. I think.”

“Point is, I get why you kept quiet. In your place, I probably would have done the same. God, it feels like lately I’ve been making too many apologies to you.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose briefly as they came to another stop.

In the distance ahead of them, Peter could see the Throgs Neck Bridge. That led into the Bronx, and then beyond that was a two-hour drive upstate. They still had a way to go.

“It’s okay—”

“Nope. Hold onto that thought.”

Tony twisted in his seat, peeking around to look at Connor, who leaned back slightly in surprise, as he met Tony’s unblinking gaze with a curious expression of his own.

“Gog—Connor,” he began. “I’m not great at...words. I take action. I build things, and let them speak for me. But I’m...ugh.” A grimace crossed his face for a moment, as if wrestling with his own thoughts, before he continued. “The things that I _don’t_ say haven’t always come across. So I want you to know that there’s no hard feelings. I don’t...expect anything from you. Peter says you make him happy, and that’s really what’s important, alright? That, and school. And making friends. And maybe teaching May to cook. So, well...if you need approval or something, you’ve got it. No complaints from me.”

Connor blinked once, twice, three times. He glanced at Peter, wide-eyed, almost as if to say, _You heard that too, right?_

Then he beamed that adorable, sunny smile Peter loved so much, and said, “T-thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Peter grinned, and even Tony had a little smirk on his face—

A loud, blaring horn interrupted the moment, and Tony whipped his head around to glance at the road ahead. The light they’d stopped at had turned green, and there were angry New Yorkers behind them waiting to keep driving.

“Alright, alright!” Tony grumbled, pushing their car forward. “Jeez...”

Peter shared a look at Connor, and the two of them sniggered.

* * *

By the time they reached the Avengers compound, the sun had begun to drift down into the horizon. Within the hour, night would fall.

“Where is everyone?” Peter asked as they drove up the long, winding path leading to the entrance.

“Pepper’s still in the city with Happy and Rhodey,” Tony replied smoothly, as he put the car into park in front of the compound and threw open his driver-side door. “Go on ahead, I gotta get something from the trunk.”

He hurried to the back of the vehicle and popped it open. Peter exited too, Connor sliding out of the backseat after him.

The pair approached, backpacks slung over their shoulders. Peter didn’t think he’d ever heard the compound be this quiet. It was like walking into a mausoleum. There were always a handful of staff, either housekeeping or Stark security, present in the compound. The place had always been bustling, it couldn't be maintained with skeleton crew. But now there was no sign of _anyone,_ as if they’d all evaporated into thin air. The lights, he noticed, were off as well. The building was in total darkness. Was there a blackout?

Behind them, they heard the trunk slam shut.

“Hey, Connor,” Tony called. “Did you bring your suit with you?”

“No,” his boyfriend replied, without looking back. “I left it at the apartment.”

“That’s good.”

A soft click flooded Peter's sensitive ears, and he paused. Then, curious, he glanced over his shoulder.

Tony stood next to the car, wearing an expression that was strangely passive and robotic, almost as if he were performing a mundane task. But there was a _gun_ in his hand, and it was pointed at _him._

Every survival instinct in him stalled, even when the gun went off. But instead of carving a hole into his head, the bullet whizzed past Peter's cheek, so close he could feel the vibration in the air.

“What the...” In his peripheral, he saw Connor’s hands flash, filling with black light as he whirled around. But _he_ was still frozen, every instinct in him totally stalled, because that _couldn't_ have just happened...

With a trembling hand, Tony adjusted his aim and fired again—

Dark energy erupted in front of him, startling him out of his stupor. Half a second-later, the second bullet hit Connor's hastily-constructed barrier and ricocheted off harmlessly. He had it stretched wide enough to shield them both.

"Peter?" he asked in a small voice, pale-faced and wide-eyed.

“I...” His spider sense was, _very_ belatedly, buzzing up a storm, and it was clouding his thoughts. Then another bullet struck the barrier, and he flinched from the noise. Reality came back to him sharply, like cold water on his skin. As Tony unloaded the rest of the magazine against the barrier, he threw his backpack to the ground and began rifling through it. After a moment, he retrieved his prize—an old pair of web-shooters. They weren't the same kind as in his suit, but they would do in a pinch.

“Pete, this isn’t how I wanted things to go,” Tony called, still frighteningly calm. He heard a clatter on the ground, as if the gun had been dropped. “It was supposed to be quick and easy. But if things are going to get difficult...”

As he slipped the web-shooters on, his advanced hearing picked out a sound he recognized all too well—armor unfurling from its dormant state.

“Connor, he's armoring up! Run!”

No sooner had he said that, an explosion ripped through the barrier protecting them and sent the boys flying into the grass beyond the compound’s parking lot. Peter recovered first, rolling to his feet and trying to peer through the smoke.

Tony had donned the Mark 48, its silver accents standing out harshly from the red and gold. He had a wrist-mounted missile launcher leveled at Peter, and...he never thought he’d be afraid to see the glowing eyes of the Iron Man mask, but he was now.

“Sorry, kid. It’s nothing personal.”

The missile fired, streaking across the the greenery and straight at him. Peter threw out a web line and snagged it, then swung the missile in a great arc. He could have turned it back toward Tony, but instead he hurled it away from them both, into the direction of the forest beyond the compound’s borders.

 _“Tony,”_ he pleaded, stumbling backward as his mentor rocketed toward him. He leapt out of the way, trying to keep his distance, and Tony lunged for him again. “Stop! Why—”

The breath was was blasted from Peter’s lungs as he was knocked to the ground. Instantly, Tony was on top of him, metal fingers gripping Peter’s throat. He tried to pry them off, but gravity was working against him, and the increasing pressure made it difficult to concentrate. The armor was heavy, and its crushing, cold weight was horrifyingly familiar.

_He was trapped under the building. He couldn’t get up._

Terror seized him, sapping strength from his struggles. He could hear the raw, rough rasping of his lungs trying to suck in any oxygen they could. But Tony had the higher ground, and he was helpless now.

“Mis’er...S’ark...”

A black bolt struck Tony in the back. It was immediately followed by another, and another. He jerked with each hit, unbalanced, but they weren’t enough to loosen his hold.

Then, with a frenzied yell, Connor threw himself in a full-body tackle at Tony. The two of them rolled away, grappling, and Peter’s throat burned with sudden freedom as he gasped in air. Fear still made his body tremble, but he couldn’t afford the luxury of a panic attack right now. Scrambling to his feet, he hurried toward the fighting.

Tony had gained the upper hand quickly, and now Connor was similarly pinned as he’d been. As he ran toward them, however, Connor’s hands glowed and fired twin bursts of energy. They struck Tony’s helmet, forcing him to throw up an arm in front of his face. His free hand aimed a repulsor directly at Connor’s face, and whined as it powered up a shot—

“NO!” Peter stuck Tony with twin strands of webbing and gave an almighty tug, yanking him off Connor. As he tried to get up, Peter lunged forward with a fist, striking him in the jaw. The blow made his hand ache and protest painfully, but it was still enough to drop the Avenger to the ground.

Oh God. Peter froze, momentarily stunned by what he’d just done. He’d punched Iron Man. Fighting Captain America in Germany had secretly elated him, but now even the _fanboy_ in him was terrified.

Then his spider sense went off again, and Peter narrowly dodged a repulsor blast. In his peripheral, he saw Connor hurl more bolts at Tony, whose thrusters ignited and launched him into the air.

 _Think!_ urged the small part of his brain which _wasn’t_ freaking out.

“Smokescreen!” Peter yelled, whirling through the air to avoid a line of red laser beams. They scorched the grass where he’d stood, leaving smoke and embers in their wake.

Connor nodded, and conjured up more darkness in his palms. He fired them at Tony, who faltered in the air as the bolts exploded around him. Peter lunged, yanking himself into the air with webbing. He kicked both feet into his back, sending the Avenger plummeting back to Earth. Connor cloaked his fist in energy and threw it in a wild haymaker. It connected with Tony as he tried to stand up, and sent him skidding across the ground, carving a line of dirt into the lawn until he rolled to a stop.

“Holy shit,” Connor breathed, jogging up to him as he landed. “Peter...”

Tony wasn’t getting up.

“We have to help him,” Peter said, hurrying toward the grounded armor.

“Help him? Wait!”

A hand grabbed his arm. Peter whirled around, as if he half-expected Connor to fight him next, but faltered a second later.

What...what was _happening?_

“I thought he was going to kill you.” Connor’s hand brushed his cheek.

Peter swallowed thickly, heart hammering in his throat. “He almost did.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but then his something past Peter caught his attention, and his eyes narrowed. Peter turned around.

Tony was getting to his feet. His armor had some scuffs and scratches in it, but so far still seemed functional. Peter hadn’t expected to have seriously damaged it—the suits were made to take a beating. He tilted his head slightly, and appraised the boys warily.

“How do we beat him?” Connor asked.

 _Come on. You need to think._ “The...the light in his chest is an arc reactor,” Peter managed. “It powers the suit.”

“So we destroy it. Think we have a shot?”

That was impossible to say. He was still struggling with the idea of _fighting Iron Man,_ let alone defeating him.

Then Tony’s helmet retracted. His face shone with sweat, a bruise was forming under his eye, and he still wore the same dead-eyed expression he’d had when he first pulled a gun on them.

“Mr. _Stark!”_ Peter cried out, hating the way his broke on the second word. “Please, _stop._ Please...”

A muscle in Tony’s jaw twitched, and his expression spasmed as if he had a facial tick. But he took a step forward, toward them.

“Like I said, kid. Nothing personal.”

Then he twitched again, and froze mid-step. He seemed to be moving peculiarly like a laggy computer animation, struggling to load his next function.

“Wait.” Connor reached down to grip Peter’s hand with his own trembling one. He looked even more afraid than he had seconds ago. “That’s not really him.”

Then Tony’s body went rigid, his foot slamming back into the ground as he straightened his back like an at-attention soldier. Then his eyes turned black, and the voice that issued from his throat was not his own.

**“Tony Stark is still here, but he...is unavailable at the moment.”**

“Negative,” Peter whispered, cold dread seeping into his stomach. Of _course._ Who else could it be? Why hadn’t he realized earlier?

 **“Mr. Parker. It’s very nice to meet you,** **_again._ ** **To think that** **_Spider-Man_ ** **was that student who stopped me at Midtown—”** His neck jerked, before snapping back to perfect posture, and a frustrated growl slipped out from behind his teeth.

“He’s fighting you,” Connor realized with awe in his voice. "Bet that big brain is difficult to control, huh?"

Peter felt hope well up inside him. If Tony was resisting Negative's influence, that explained why his first shot had missed.

Negative-Tony did not reply, but his black eyes narrowed to slits. He began to walk forward again, and this time there was no struggle in his steps to indicate Tony was trying to wrestle back control.

“Peter,” Connor murmured, letting go of his hand. “New plan. Negative can't keep up control forever. We just have to outlast him until Mr. Stark breaks free.”

“Oh, is that all?” Did Connor _know_ how much weaponry was in the Iron Man armor?

“Disabling has to be easier than destroying, right?”

Peter bit his lip. “Well, yeah, but—”

Tony’s helmet folded back around his head, and the thrusters in his calves ignited as he lunged at them, one gauntleted fist drawn back.

“Then we slow him down!” Connor shouted. He threw his hands out, unleashing a vortex of darkness from his palms. Tony veered around it, and Peter webbed Connor out of the way before he could get pulverized by the Avenger.

 _Okay, okay, think!_ Peter yelled at himself as he rolled away from a repulsor blast. _The arc reactor can’t be shorted out because it’s self-sustaining, but if I can get it to use up more power than it can regenerate, it’ll fail. But how..._

Wait. He was an idiot! Repulsors had power cells which siphoned and stored power from the arc reactor so they could operate independently, even if they weren’t connected to the chestpiece. When it fired, those cells were emptied, and that energy was deliberately destabilized so it could be concentrated into an offensive weapon. Constant consumption from the reactor was needed to keep up a sustained blast. If it went on for too long, a failsafe in the armor would shut down the output to prevent critical power loss. But if two separate repulsors were to mix, the combined destabilizing energy would create a vacuum, and drain more power than the reactor could afford to lose...in theory.

If he was right, it would also cause a violent explosion, like the kind that had destroyed the Stark Expo and defeated Whiplash. That night, he remembered excitedly telling Ben about being saved by Iron Man, while they attempted to avoid the chaos the Hammer Drones had caused.

God, his life was so screwed up.

Quickly, he attached a web line to Tony’s chest and yanked himself forward, blitzing him with a knee to the face. Tony stumbled, firing blindly, but Peter was already out of range.

“Connor! We need a repulsor!”

“Wait, what?” Tony’s unibeam discharged, and Connor threw up a barrier to shield himself from it. When the light vanished, he shot Peter a concerned expression. “That sounds like a bad idea!”

“Just trust me!”

It was the only plan he had. Just as Tony leveled a one hand to fire a repulsor at Connor, Peter snagged the offending limb with webbing. He gave an almighty jerk, and there was a slightly humorous _clang_ as the momentum made his mentor punch himself in the face.

“Sorry!” he yelped, as Connor unleashed another volley of bolts. They struck Tony and exploded with concussive force, making him drop to one knee. Eager to keep him on the defensive, Peter closed the distance between them—

He caught the briefest flash of a red-and-gold hand lunging for him, and threw up his own just in time to block the grab. Connor appeared out of the corner of his eye and grabbed Tony’s other arm, pulling it back from lashing out. He didn’t have superhuman strength like Peter, but he hand enough leverage to maintain a firm grip.

The servos in Tony’s armor whined in protect, and Peter grunted, digging his heels into the ground beneath him. The metal fingers were inches from his face, but he did not attempt to get away. He had to be _sure_ that the repulsor was charged before he could remove it, and his face was the easiest target to give.

Sure enough, the light in Tony’s palm began to glow, and Peter heard the signature noise of its power cells charging. He grabbed the gauntlet just below its elbow, planted his feet on Tony’s chest, and pushed off.

With a screeching sound of torn metal, the gauntlet was ripped away from the rest of the armor. Connor yelled something, and lost his grip. Tony’s remaining armored hand struck Peter across the face and knocked him away. He hit the ground, rolling to his feet and slipping his own arm into the weapon. Then he whirled around—

In his moment of freedom, Tony had grabbed Connor before the other boy could get out of his reach. He was in a chokehold, struggling to breathe past the metal arm wrapped around his neck.

“End of the line, Pete,” Tony said triumphantly. Connor sputtered something unintelligible, his eyes wide and pleading.

Peter’s fingers shook inside the gauntlet. “Mr. Stark. _Please_ don’t make me do this.”

Connor continue to reach, groping blindly, until he fingers brushed the bare skin of Tony’s right forearm.

Tony’s expression was completely unreadable behind his helmet. But his head twitched a little, as if he were snapping out of a trance. In a fragile, exhausted voice, the weakest Peter had ever heard, he murmured, “Kid…?”

His grip relaxed slightly, and Connor sucked in a deep breath. That was when Peter understood. He’d connected with Tony, and that had to have done something to Negative’s control.

“Mr. Stark,” he tried again. When he didn’t get a response, he tried, “Tony!”

Connor tried to wriggle himself free, but he was unsuccessful. Tony seemed to not notice who he was holding, or wasn’t yet aware enough to care. “He’s in my head...”

“I know, Tony,” Peter said slowly, as if talking to a wounded animal. “Let Connor go. Please.”

He glanced down at Connor, as if confused by what Peter meant. Then a tremor passed through him, and he returned his gaze to Peter.

**“No.”**

Connor flinched when Negative’s voice issued from behind the helmet, and he locked eyes with Peter, a thousand apologies gleaming within their depths—

Then Tony’s thrusters ignited, and before Peter could even fire his repulsor—for all the good that would do—the pair of them rocketed into the sky.

“NO!” Peter screamed, firing his web-shooter. But Tony was already too high, and the line hit empty air before falling back to earth. In the next instant, they were both gone, disappearing into the treeline, back toward New York City.

They were out of sight in a matter of seconds, but he couldn’t look away. Somehow, he had the insane hope that it was all a trick, a dream, that they would come back and the past few minutes hadn’t just happened.

But even as his entire world slammed to a halt, the Earth kept turning. A soft breeze brushed his face, and there was the distant sound of a woodpecker going all-out on a tree in the woods. The sky darkened several shades as the sun quickened its descent into the horizon, leaving him alone in increasing darkness.

The gauntlet on his arm whined and then cut out, its power cells dying. He let it slip off his arm and clatter to the ground. Then he sank to his knees, unable to stop a few tears from rolling down his cheeks.

_Now what do I do?_

The thought ripped its way through him, and like the bursting of a dam, a sob bubbled up from deep within him. But he swallowed it painfully, and turned his attention on the compound.

_Come on, Spider-Man. Pull yourself together._

That hardened his heart a little. Terrified questions still assaulted his mind, relentless in their hunger for answers he didn’t have, but he willed himself to ignore them. He had no choice. Slowly, agonizingly, he stood up, then marched for the compound, trying to pull himself together with each step.

If he didn’t succeed in doing that, well...there was no one around to hear him anyway.

* * *

When he reached the front doors, the compound’s emergency lighting had come on. Peter stepped inside, following the hall to the sitting room.

In the brief time it had taken to get inside, he’d narrowed his thoughts down to one focus: getting back to the city. Briefly, he’d considered taking the Rolls-Royce, learner's permit be damned, but that was a two-hour drive that Peter couldn’t afford to make. There had to be other, faster methods somewhere inside the compound.

That was how he found himself descending into Tony’s lab. When it came into view from the glass, he paused briefly on the steps. Papers and broken bits of machinery were scattered all over the floor, as if there had been a fight. His Spider-Man suit was lying in a crumpled heap on Tony’s workbench.

_Was this where Negative had...?_

He forced himself not to linger on his own thoughts for too long.

Entering the lab, Peter turned as if by instinct toward the far end of the room, where Friday’s Nexus sat. The display was totally dark, and a knot formed in his stomach.

He needed help. He needed—

Movement caught his eye, and Peter reflexively jumped back, squinting through the dim illumination. Something behind Friday’s Nexus was moving. It almost looked like a claw…

“DUM-E?”

He received a warbling sound in reply. It almost sounded sad.

In the next moment, the Nexus blinked to life, filling the room with a soft white glow. Through it, Peter could see DUM-E had not been harmed by the chaos of the lab, which was a small wonder. But the Nexus took his attention—it was projecting an avatar, something he didn’t recognize as Friday’s. This was a white cube, smaller than her blue sphere.

 _“Peter?”_ it asked, and the knot in his stomach unraveled. _“Is that you?”_

 _“Karen!”_ He dropped to his knees in front of the Nexus, weak with relief.

 _“It is good to see you,”_ she said, and Peter bit back another sob because _it really was._

“You’re...you’re okay?”

 _“I am. Friday only deemed me fit for operations yesterday. Mr. Stark intended to reinstall me into the Spider-Man suit, but...”_ The cube pulsed a little brighter. _“Peter, you should know. Negative has breached the compound. Mr. Stark is—”_

“I know,” he interrupted, before she could say the words. “I know. I...I’m trying to figure out what to do. Where is Friday?”

Karen hesitated. _“She is...lost.”_

Lost? He didn’t know how to respond to that. “What? W-what does that mean?”

_“It is easier if I show you. Security cameras remained online during the blackout.”_

Her avatar vanished and was replaced by a holographic screen. It was video of the lab, time-stamped a few hours ago. He saw Negative materialize next to the Nexus—Laser, no doubt—and a few seconds later Tony rushed downstairs. Negative pulled a gun on him, and directed him to sit in a chair. There was no sound, and the video was accelerated as if being played at double speed.

“Karen, wait. Slow it down. I want to hear.”

She obeyed, and the audio came through. **_“—knows that Negative exists now. That threatens everything I have worked for!”_ **

Peter couldn’t see Tony’s face, but his reply was scathing. _“You think killing me is the solution? Too many people know the truth now. Welcome to the revolution, Martin. You’re on the wrong side of it.”_

Then, before either of them could say anything else, a brilliant red flash filled the room, and the feed briefly cut out. When it returned, Negative had Tony by the throat. In his free hand, he held a cell phone, and was staring at it. **_"A text message from Peter Parker."_ **

_"In...tern…"_ Tony gurgled.

Peter closed his eyes. He'd sent that text. Was it _his_ fault that Negative knew who he was? _His_ fault that all of this was happening?

 **_"I met a Peter Parker at Midtown."_ ** Negative's voice was deathly quiet. **_"Shortly before Spider-Man and Animus interfered with the assault on Rikers. I knew it was too much to hope I'd killed him."_ **

_"No,"_ Tony's voice sounded a little stronger, and Peter opened his eyes. Negative had dropped him, and he was rubbing his throat. _"No...just...an intern…"_

**_“I don't think so. I've changed my mind, Stark. I’m not going to kill you, because Spider-Man is still alive. He is the cause of everything. He turned Animus against me. He exposed my identity to you, and that knowledge has begun to spread through the city like an infection. The only way to stop an infection is to cut it out. So you will help me kill Peter Parker, and anyone else who threatens my reign. Only after that, my new and loyal servant, will I grant you the mercy of death.”_ **

Black energy flared from his hand, engulfing Tony, and Peter forced himself to not look way. Tony didn’t make a sound, instantly going completely limp. When Negative dropped him, however, he landed on his feet and stood up, at attention like a soldier.

Negative eyed the darkness swirling around his own palm, until it settled back against his skin. He squeezed it into a fist, and closed his eyes. **_“Ah, there it is. The power, the skill...perhaps I will have use for you after Spider-Man is dead."_ **

Tony did not reply. It was as if he were nothing more than a porcelain doll.

**_“What was that flash just now?”_ **

Tony picked up the device that had been sitting on the workbench next to him, and handed it to Negative, who took it and inspected it with a critical eye—

The device let out another burst of red light again, this time much closer to his face, and he recoiled with a cry.

 **_“What is this?”_ ** When Tony refused to answer another question, Negative’s free hand burned with darkness, and Tony stumbled, clutching at his head. **_“You are strong, Stark, but not strong enough. Answer me!”_ **

_“Jocasta,”_ he responded obediently, and Negative ceased the pain. _“A user interface program. She is the current co-pilot of the Spider-Man suit.”_

**_“Why is it here, then?”_ **

There was the briefest hesitation from Tony, but then he responded, _“Repairs.”_

**_“Interesting. How many other programs like this are there?”_ **

_“Three.”_

**_“Where are they?”_ **

Tony pointed at two other devices on the table, then at the Nexus behind Negative.

 **_“Hm.”_ ** He held up Jocasta’s device. **_“It is contained in this? And the two on the table?”_ **

_“Tadashi and Veronica. Yes.”_

**_“And...this thing?”_ ** He gestured to the Nexus. **_“Can you destroy it?”_ **

_“Not without crashing most of Stark Industries. Even if I did just torch and burn everything, it would take me three or four hours to purge her from the network.”_

**_“I do not have that kind of time,”_ ** Negative said, dissatisfied. **_“I’m aware of your battle against Killian on the Norco. He had an overwhelming advantage, yet you prevailed thanks to your suits and the program controlling them. I will not fall victim to your technology as he did.”_ **

Tony frowned, evidently trying to think of a way he could help Negative destroy Friday. _“I could isolate the core parts of her programming and trap them in an endless loop of each other. It essentially would be making her blind, deaf, and mute. That would take me about...twenty minutes?”_

**_“Do it.”_ **

As Peter watched, Tony approached the Nexus and several holographic screens appeared in front of him. He immediately began typing into them. The Nexus’ projector wasn’t displaying an avatar, but the lights running up and down its length began to go out as he shut it down. While he worked, he tapped his foot and hummed to himself. It was such a bizarre thing to witness, Tony acting like himself but clearly _not_ himself.

Negative watched him closely for a few minutes until the device in his hand beeped. He held it up until it was at his eye level, and said, **_“You are remarkably loyal and independent. For a few lines of code, that little stunt was almost impressive.”_ **

For a moment, there was no response. Then, as Negative began to turn his attention back to Tony, her red, pyramid-shaped avatar flickered angrily into existence. _“Yeah, well, I learned from the best.”_

Negative blinked in surprise, focusing once again on her. **_“Did you now?”_ ** His hand closed around the chip, and Peter felt the same fingers curl over his heart. **_“Stark is mine, and soon Parker will be dead by his hand.”_ **

Her avatar flickered again, this time distorted and intermittent, the projection impeded by the pressure of his grip. _No._ Peter wanted to stop him, but that was impossible. He couldn’t turn back time.

 **_“Tell me something, program.”_ ** Negative’s mouth had curved into a small, triumphant smile. He was _savoring_ this. **_“Can you feel regret, or anguish? Do you grieve for your master?”_ **

He relaxed his hold, and Jocasta's avatar stabilized, becoming stronger. On the table, Tadashi and Veronica’s avatars blinked into existence. None of the programs had eyes, but it felt like they were staring Negative down regardless.

Speaking with more disdain than Peter expected to hear from an artificial personality, Jocasta shot back, _“The only thing I regret is that I won’t be there to watch you lose.”_

The smirk on Negative's face vanished instantly. His lip curled, and he squeezed Jocasta's chip into his fist, breaking the device into a thousand pieces. Her hologram winked out of existence, and she was no more.

“Jocasta,” Peter whispered. He hadn’t known her very long, but...she’d been something of a friend to him. She’d watched his back in Karen’s absence, even saved his life.

On the screen, Negative promptly crushed Tadashi and Veronica’s chips as well, then turned fo Tony and said, **_"Work quickly, Stark. We have much more to do."_ **

Then the feed ended. That was it.

 _“I am sorry, Peter.”_ Karen’s voice was soft, much more gentle then he’d ever heard.

“Why did she...”

_“She did what she had to, to give you a fighting chance. They all did.”_

“What are you _talking_ about, Karen?” he demanded, wiping his eyes. “They...they’re gone, and two of them didn’t even _know_ me.”

_“I do not think Mr. Stark could refuse a direct order, in his enthralled state. But if Negative were distracted, he could resist the domination enough to send a message.”_

“What makes you say that?"

 _"He was tapping his foot in Morse code,"_ Karen replied. _"He was saying 'distract' on repeat. Jocasta and the others heard him, so they did what they could."_

Peter was torn between annoyance, confusion, grief, and respect for Tony. It made his head spin. "What could he do with just a few minutes?"

 _“He left me free,”_ she said simply, and more lights came on in the lab. A panel in the Nexus opened up, revealing six triangle-shaped injectors, not unlike the kind Peter had seen give Silvermane use to give Negative his abilities. The liquid inside them was red, and milky. _“Before Negative arrived, Friday had completed making the cure for his brand of Extremis. Jocasta, Veronica, and Tadashi were aware of this. While they distracted him, Mr. Stark left me in charge of the lab, and free from Friday's entrapment. I cannot control the compound, but within this room, I managed to finalize doses of the cure to non-lethal levels.”_

Peter reached inside and pulled out the injectors. “These...these will take away Negative’s powers?”

_“And those of the Inner Demons, yes.”_

That was _staggering._ He felt a newfound touch of humble awe and respect for the programs, and their sacrifice.

Something else caught his attention. There was an orange glow inside the panel. He felt around, and pulled out a long, cylindrical vial. It contained a viscous, orange substance that had a harsh glow.

“What’s this?”

_“That is the original strain of Extremis, developed by Aldrich Killian five years ago. Mr. Stark kept it in cold storage. He destroyed all other copies he could find.”_

Peter crossed over to the workbench and set the vial down, then turned over the injectors in his hands. The beginning of a plan was forming in his mind.

He could, in theory, take down the Inner Demons and Negative tonight. If he dosed them all, stripped them of their powers, then it wouldn’t matter whether people knew about Negative. His control over everyone he’d dominated would fall apart.

But that required defeating them all in combat, or at the very least incapacitating them long enough to dose them. By himself, Peter wasn’t sure he could do that. He couldn’t depend on Tony, and Connor was as equally out of reach. Who else was there?

Well, he only knew one other Avenger. He set the injectors on the workbench and pulled out his phone, walking back to the Nexus. “Karen, do you know Rhodey’s phone number?”

She rattled it off, and he dialed. On the fifth ring, he heard a voice.

_“Hello—”_

“Rhodey!” he yelled. “It’s Peter! I need—”

_“—this is Colonel James Rhodes, please leave your name and number...”_

Peter groaned. He hung up, then immediately dialed again, only to get voicemail a second time. Where _was_ he?

Just as he was about to call a third time, his phone chirped. It had recieved a singular text message, from Rhodey.

_rikers - J.R._

Rikers? Peter blinked. What about Rikers?

A moment later his phone rang, loud in the silence of the lab. The ID told him it was from Tony Stark.

For a moment, he almost didn’t pick it up. But then he swallowed his fear, and accepted the call.

“Tony?”

**_“Guess again.”_ **

This wasn’t Negative-speaking-through-Tony. There was no tinge of his mentor’s voice underneath all that darkness—this time, he was talking to the real deal.

“Negative,” Peter whispered, _hating_ the way his voice shook with a mixture of anger and fear. “Let them go—”

 **_“Parker, I will save you the trouble of that particular song and dance,”_ ** Negative cut him off. **_“You are a nuisance. An annoyance. Yet, despite your insignificance, you have harassed and inconvenienced me at every turn. I almost admire it. Your talent for performing the unexpected is remarkable. But tonight, you did exactly as I predicted. You could have defeated Iron Man today, and yet you did not. You tried to talk to him, because you are weak. Because you...care.”_ ** He spat the word with such revulsion that Peter winced. **_“I never had faith Stark would succeed. Why should I have someone you love do the deed, when you will so readily throw yourself into the fire of your own accord?”_ **

The implications of those words ran a chill down his spine. “What did you do?”

**_“While you were properly distracted with trying to rescue your hero, all the people you care about have been rounded up by my Inner Demons. Miss Potts and her companions, the bodyguard and the crippled Avenger…”_ **

Peter nearly dropped the phone, but he was so paralyzed by terror that he couldn’t move.

**_“Your classmates...”_**

_MJ. Ned. He has them too?_

**_“Your aunt...”_ **

_No, no._

“Please,” he whispered, and Negative laughed.

**_“I would enjoy hearing you beg, but not just yet. Listen closely. Your loved ones are scattered around the city, and you have a choice to make. Option one, you can come to me. I will not run, and my Inner Demons will let their captives go. But I have Tony Stark and Animus with me. In exchange for my location, and the freedom of the other hostages, they will die. Option two, you can attempt to defeat my Inner Demons, and rescue everyone. But they have numbers, and they are stronger than you. Every hour, a random hostage will be executed. That compound is a two-hour drive from the city alone, isn’t it? So in each option, someone is going to die. Are you man enough to decide who that is, or do I get to enjoy watching you suffer? Because if you make me wait too long… Well, I will just kill everyone, and then I will come for you. No matter what, Peter Parker, before the night is over I will crush your body with my bare hands, but before I do...I will break your heart.”_ **

“W-wait.” His knuckles were white around the phone, and he was a little surprised it hadn’t broken already. “You can have me. I’m right here. I’ll give myself up.”

 **_“That’s not how this works,”_ ** Negative replied sharply. **_“I’m not interested in you doing the selfless, noble thing. Someone is going to die tonight, and it is going to be your fault. I look forward to seeing your choice.”_ ** There was a derisive chuckle from the other end. **_“Good luck, Spider-Man.”_ **

Then the line went dead.

Peter let the phone slip from his grip, and it clattered to the ground. He’d cracked its screen.

Everyone— _everyone_ —he cared about was in danger. He needed a way to get back to the city _now._

His voice shook. “Karen? Where...where are the armors?” The Mark 48 wasn't Tony's only suit. Hell, maybe if he was lucky he could get the new Hulkbuster running...

_"They have all been destroyed, Peter. Negative took every measure to ensure there would not be another Iron Legion."_

Peter wanted to cry. Could this _possibly_ get any worse? "Okay, then...there's a Quinjet, right? You can fly that? You're good to go, right?"

 _“I am capable of accompanying you,”_ she replied, but then added, _“However, before we do anything else, there is one last thing you should be aware of. Do you remember those files we discovered in Hammerhead’s base, at the foundry? Mr. Stark was in the process of uploading them to the Internet when Negative attacked. Friday never completed the task.”_

“Can’t you upload them? You said you have access to the lab.”

_“But not to the files. They were locked away with Friday. I would have to free her, which would take time, and to do that...”_

The last remnants of hope fluttered away as his stomach did a nervous flip. “You need to stay behind.”

Her synthetic voice reeked of sympathy he hadn't thought possible. _“I am not as sophisticated a program as her—I cannot access this lab from the Spider-Man suit.”_

He could use Karen—they were a _team,_ and it felt almost poetic for them to suit up together, for the final fight. But stopping Negative was more important, and if there was a chance that Peter could leave behind some kind of contingency, in case the worst came to pass…

He really _was_ going to have to do this alone.

He opened his mouth, to tell it was okay, but instead what slipped out was a choked, conflicted, “I’m scared. I...I need help, but there isn’t anyone. All I have are these cures—”

He turned to gesture at the injectors on the workbench, but his eyes fell on the vial next to them, as if drawn to it by magnetism.

A horrible idea struck him.

He could ignore it. He _should_ ignore it. It was exactly the kind of intrusive thought that people experienced when standing on a cliff’s edge—their survival instincts told them to _back the hell up,_ but a tiny part of their mind urged them, _just jump._

“Karen,” he said softly, taking a step forward. “What would happen if...if _I_ took Extremis?”

She noticeably hesitated before replying, in a low voice, _“It would kill you, Peter.”_

He reached the bench, and picked up the vial. The orange glow inside was not something he’d ever considered as warm or inviting before, but now…

“Before that. What would it do?”

_“I do not understand the relevance of that question. The end result would still be death.”_

She was being evasive. He closed his eyes. “Just...humor me. Please? Tell me.”

Karen took an even longer pause this time, before answering. _“Extremis amplifies the natural physical characteristics of the host. However, it has only ever been designed for an unaltered, completely human genome. You are not 100% human, Peter. I can predict with reasonable accuracy that Extremis would dramatically augment your abilities, but I cannot quantify the extent of the change. You would produce an exothermic reaction in excess of three thousand degrees fahrenheit, and develop extreme regenerative capabilities. Because of your DNA, however, Extremis will eventually encounter sequences that cannot be altered, and this will cause it to break down within your body. It would be unable to fully bond with you, and when rejected, Extremis causes the host to...explode.”_

He mulled the information over. Privately, he noticed the prospect of such a horrible death didn’t fill him with as much fear as it probably should. “How long would it take to kill me?”

_“I cannot be certain. You have a higher metabolic rate than the average person. Your body would adapt to Extremis much quicker than normal. Some subjects expired after only a few hours, or last as long as days until they failed. I believe your enhanced physiology would allow you the benefit of somewhat resisting Extremis’ corruption.”_

That sounded like a good thing.

_“Unfortunately, this means that until Extremis reaches a point where your body could not contain its breakdown, you would be in intense pain.”_

Or maybe not. His voice was barely above a whisper as he looked up from the vial and asked, “But...I could use it to save everyone?”

_“I cannot encourage behavior which would endanger—”_

“Yeah, I know.” Peter crossed over to a cabinet and pulled it open, removing a syringe. He didn’t have the faintest idea how much was a proper dose of Extremis...he’d just have to figure that out the old-fashioned way: trial and error. “Break Friday out. Upload those files to the Internet. Karen, you _have_ to make sure the whole world knows who Negative and Martin Li are, okay?”

 _“Peter.”_ Karen’s avatar flickered anxiously, and she almost sounded _afraid._ _“Extremis alters the brain chemistry of the subject. Side effects include increased aggression, personality shifts, behavioral anomalies, even hallucinations. You cannot take it. If you do, it could turn you into someone you are not. And then it will kill you anyway.”_

As if to add emphasis to her words, DUM-E let out a mournful cry from the corner.

For the first time, her words made him hesitate. Unbidden, memories of his phone call with Liz surfaced, and her words drifted to the forefront of his mind.

_When you face him again, you’ll do what you’ve always done. Whatever you have to._

She didn’t know how right she was.

“I don't think I have a choice, Karen.”

Before he could change his mind, he gathered his suit and the cures, then hurried toward the armory. If he was lucky, maybe he could salvage something there that would fly him to the city.

If he was _really_ lucky, maybe the only person who had to die tonight would be himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Jocasta. And Tadashi and Veronica. Robo fam gave it their all.
> 
> I tried to split this chapter because I worried it would be a lot to digest. You'll notice things have begun to move VERY quickly. But i couldn't split it in a way that flowed well, and y'all probably wouldn't want shorter chapters anyways.
> 
> So...Extremis!Peter. This is the idea I had way back in the beginning if the fic, before Connor was even dreamed up. It's like I said about Negative--did you expect me to put Extremis in an Irondad & Spiderson fic and NOT have Peter take it? That would be a wasted opportunity. Muahahaha.
> 
> Good news: the whole "Tony is brainwashed" thing got resolved by the end of the chapter, yay!
> 
> Bad news: everythingnjust got much, much worse.


	19. Let The Flames Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter takes Extremis, and struggles to resist its corruption as he battles the first two Inner Demons in his path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Let The Flames Begin" by Paramore
> 
> Chapter warnings: Violence, fatal but pretty non-graphic wounds, and a bit of dark!Peter.

* * *

If Tony could see what Peter was about to do, he would blow a gasket.

The compound was roughly 90 miles from New York. To reach the city in a few minutes, Peter would need to exceed speeds of roughly 1000 miles per hour.

That kind of speed was easily achievable for the armors, and Peter had managed to jury-rig a satisfactory flight propulsion system from the scrap in Tony’s lab. He looked ridiculous swimming in Iron Man’s boots and gauntlets, but it would get him in the air and keep him there. Probably. So many of Tony’s creations had been destroyed that he wasn’t able to fully resurrect even _one_ set of armor, but he did manage to create a torso piece, held together by webs and crude welding. It fit him much more snugly than the limb pieces, but he didn’t have time to make those comfortable or less unwieldy. After a moment of hesitation, he fashioned himself a helmet out of the Mark 47’s remains and what looked like an old War Machine prototype. None of the pieces were able to run an operating system, they were too damaged, but Peter didn’t need an onboard computer—the only thing that mattered was using the last dregs of power from an arc reactor to get airborne.

The entire creation process took him about 15 minutes. After finishing, he changed into his Spider-Man suit, slipped on the makeshift armor, and clumsily clunked his way up to the compound’s roof.

Now came the hard part.

He’d filled the syringe all the way up—300 ccs, exactly. He had no reason to believe that this would be enough, but an entire syringe worth of Extremis seemed larger than the amount he’d seen administered to Negative.

Karen's warning still echoed in his mind, and not for the first time since committing to this plan did he wonder if he ought to abandon it. Even discounting an inevitable death, Extremis' side effects were terrifying.

He tried to steel himself. He was Spider-Man, and people were counting on him. He was strong enough to control Extremis. He _had_ to be. When this was all over, he would give in. He was willing to be succumb to Extremis, if that was the price to be paid.

But not until everyone was safe, the Syndicate was defeated, and Negative had been brought to justice.

The sun had set completely by the time he was ready to depart. Standing on the roof of the compound, the cure injectors tucked safely into a pocket on his suit, he stared out at the surrounding woods. There wasn’t much of a view in the darkness—no one else lived around here for miles.

Still, it was probably the last moment of peace he’d ever get. With a heavy sigh, Peter uncapped the syringe, and turned the needle on himself, aiming for his neck. But before it could pierce his skin, he stopped.

He was about to give up his life for everyone he loved. Not only that, but he was potentially going to become something...else. Something that wasn’t Spider-Man or Peter Parker.

Still, as he prepared to do what needed to be done, he found himself hesitating. Was he not, more or less, giving up his soul?

Even though the Parkers weren’t the most observant or strict, his aunt and uncle had taught him that the mourning traditions were important. It was Ben who had first explained the process of shiva to him, after his parents died. Then, years later, Peter did the same thing when Ben himself passed. He hated the thought of having to put May through that _again._ But the alternative was letting her die, along with everyone else, and that was unacceptable.

 _Should_ he say something first? Jewish tradition sometimes got uncannily specific, but he doubted there was a scenario for this case. There wasn’t exactly a precedent to follow.

The only thing he knew was the mourner’s Kaddish.

He’d said it for Ben, who wasn’t technically his parent, but had been a father to him for most of his life. May had assured him that it was acceptable. Technically, a group of ten was required to recite it. But there wasn’t exactly anyone else around, and considering what he was about to do, maybe this indulgence could be forgiven.

He closed his eyes, and said, quietly,

“:יִתְגַּדַּל וְיִתְקַדַּשׁ שְׁמֵהּ רַבָּא.

בְּעָלְמָא דִּי בְרָא כִרְעוּתֵהּ וְיַמְלִיךְ מַלְכוּתֵהּ בְּחַיֵּיכון וּבְיומֵיכון וּבְחַיֵּי דְכָל בֵּית יִשרָאֵל בַּעֲגָלָא וּבִזְמַן קָרִיב, וְאִמְרוּ אָמֵן

:יְהֵא שְׁמֵהּ רַבָּא מְבָרַךְ לְעָלַם וּלְעָלְמֵי עָלְמַיָּא

.יִתְבָּרַךְ וְיִשְׁתַּבַּח וְיִתְפָּאַר וְיִתְרוֹמַם וְיִתְנַשּא וְיִתְהַדָּר וְיִתְעַלֶּה וְיִתְהַלָּל שְׁמֵהּ דְּקֻדְשָׁא. בְּרִיךְ הוּא

:לְעֵלָּא מִן כָּל בִּרְכָתָא וְשִׁירָתָא תֻּשְׁבְּחָתָא וְנֶחֱמָתָא דַּאֲמִירָן בְּעָלְמָא. וְאִמְרוּ אָמן

:יְהֵא שְׁלָמָא רַבָּא מִן שְׁמַיָּא וְחַיִּים עָלֵינוּ וְעַל כָּל יִשְׂרָאֵל וְאִמְרוּ אָמֵן

עוֹשֶׂה שָׁלוֹם בִּמְרוֹמָיו הוּא יַעֲשֶׂה שָׁלוֹם עָלֵינוּ וְעַל כָּל יִשְׂרָאֵל וְאִמְרוּ אָמֵן

It wasn’t much. It might not even be appropriate. But he was terrified, and by the time tonight was over he might not even be worth a proper funeral, if he took things too far.

Immediately, shame flooded him. What was he _doing?_ Taking a selfish moment for himself while people were in danger?

There would be time for the dead later.

He pushed the needle into his neck, and pressed down on the plunger.

What felt like a lifetime ago, when Connor had recounted his life story to Peter in that shipping container, he’d described Extremis as feeling like pure fire in his veins. Peter hadn’t known how to interpret that beyond “Extremis hurts a lot”.

He understood now.

Every molecule in his body exploded into blistering, white-hot agony. He screamed, unable to help himself, and fell over as shock pulverized the muscles in his legs. Peter gripped the boundary of the compound’s roof and used it to pull himself upright. Each breath sent a new wave of fire coursing through him, and he struggled to remain conscious. He was sweating profusely, and his skin was _hot,_ too hot, so much that Peter felt like he would spontaneously combust.

Oh, God, it _hurt,_ and he would do _anything_ to make it stop. But Extremis wasn’t going to listen—it callously tore apart and restructured his DNA, indifferent to his pleas.

“Help,” he moaned deliriously, trying to press his forehead against the chilly stone of the rooftop boundary. It did nothing to cool him off. “May! Tony! B-Ben!”

He needed someone, _anyone,_ to make the pain go away. But there _was_ no one. Hadn’t that been the point of this?

The point was to hurt so they didn’t have to.

Somehow, through the tormented haze of suffering, Peter managed to turn clockwise the arc reactor in his chestplate. With a click, it sunk into the armor, and the thrusters on his boots ignited. A split second later, the flight stabilizers on his hands fired as well, and Peter was launched into the air.

Suddenly he was flying faster and farther than he ever had in his life. He climbed higher and higher into the sky, howling, and the compound vanished beneath him. Through the glow of the half-moon above him, he could see New York City’s brilliant lights in the distance. It was still far away, much too far for him to prepare for a landing, but he had his destination.

In his condition, there was no way he could steer himself. It was all he could do to angle in the general direction of the city, and hope that the power he’d scavenged up would be able to carry him.

Time had no meaning to him anymore, so he had no idea how long it had been since takeoff. His throat burned as if he’d swallowed knives, and black spots danced in his vision. Peter knew he _had_ to stay awake, stay on target, but he had quickly been pushed past his limits.

As he rocketed through the night like a comet, Peter at last surrendered to the fire, and then all he knew was burning.

He streaked over the landscape, a human fireball of destruction, over fields and small towns, until the flat landscape began to give way to suburbs. That was when one of his flight stabilizers, unable to endure the strain of the trip anymore, exploded. The burst of light wasn’t enough to shake him from his addled state, however, so he barely noticed as he veered off-course and into the direction of Manhattan, rather than Queens.

It was only when he nearly collided with the spire of the Empire State Building that Peter came to his senses. He was descending, and _very_ rapidly. Panic overtook his last functioning brain cell as he flailed in the air, attempting to correct his course.

He managed to point himself away from New Jersey, toward East Village instead, but the buildings were getting too low. He was going to overshoot Manhattan, and if he didn’t do something, he’d be a stain across half of Brooklyn—

With a sputtering gasp, one of the thrusters in his boots died.

Peter spiraled through the air, completely out of control and falling even lower, until he slammed into a the side of a building with a massive Verizon logo atop it. Even though a dozen bones in his body shattered upon impact, he barely felt them over Extremis’ fire, and crashing into a skyscraper wasn’t enough to stop him. He bounced off and kept going, his new trajectory sending him straight into the path of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He hit the top of the bridge’s first tower with the force of a missile, punching a groove into the stone and losing consciousness instantly. What remained of his armor was stripped from his body on impact, slowing him down.

Then he tumbled into the East River a mangled, broken mess, and sunk to its depths like a stone.

* * *

Peter didn’t remember waking up.

He didn’t remember swimming up from the bottom of the river, breaking the surface, and bobbing his way to the nearest shore. By the time his brain came back online, he was already walking out of the water.

Pebble Beach was a tiny strip of rock and sand along the northern edge of Brooklyn. Peter had never visited before, even as Spider-Man, until now. Surprisingly, the rest of his makeshift armor had done its job—there were a few small tears in the fabric of his Spider-Man suit, but otherwise it was intact. The damage was minimal.

 _He_ was even better. An orange glow emanated from beneath the suit as he walked. There was a mild itch running along parts of his body, but when he looked, he found no signs of damage, and the itch faded.

The fire had settled within him, comfortable in its new hearth, and its burn energized him. Peter looked down at his hands, marveling. His senses, already magnified well beyond that of a normal human’s, were the first change he noticed. They hadn’t been enhanced, but rather seemed...finely tuned. If he concentrated, he could hear the heartbeats of any citizens nearby, beating rhythmically in his skull. It seemed the rest of the world had been sharpened and re-textured several times over—wherever his eyes went, there seemed to be no darkness they could not penetrate. He looked down at his hands, and nearly recoiled from the red of the Spider-Man suit. The color was so vivid it practically glowed, and the blue of his legs struck him like frostbite. It was as if his entire world was thrown into an Instagram filter.

The scent of meat drifted past his nose, so potent its source should be right in front of him. Distracted, Peter sniffed. No, not potent. Something old, by a few hours maybe, the smell of mustard, ketchup, and sausage. A hot dog had been here, along with—he wrinkled his nose in disgust—sweat and horrible case of bad breath. Someone had eaten here.

He could feel the uneven surface of the ground beneath his feet, and the vibrations of nearby traffic, as plain as if he were standing in the middle of the street. His skin prickled as a breeze rushed past him, stimulated even beneath the suit.

Peter was practiced at sensory overload by this point in his life. It required focus, and conscious filtering. But when he pushed back against the input, it receded instantly. Suddenly the little bubble of sensory awareness which had inflated since the spider bite was shrinking, just like that. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, then looked past his hands down at the rocky ground, and picked up a grapefruit-sized stone. Hefting it with one hand, he gave it an experimental squeeze.

The rock shattered between his fingers, crumbling back to the ground in small pieces.

He wanted to see what else Extremis had changed in him, but now wasn’t the time. His suit’s HUD had survived the landing, and was telling him that the time was 6:30. Thirty minutes until the Inner Demons executed their first hostage.

He had to find them before that.

There was a brownstone warehouse in front of him. Peter broke into a jog and then jumped, aiming to adhere to its side—

Instead, he rocketed so high that he cleared the height of the five-story building, and landed clumsily on its roof.

“Whoa,” he breathed, glancing behind him, back at the ground.

Then, with a grin, he took another running jump, this time using more force.

Usually, he was able to leap the space between buildings and cross New York’s streets with ease, though some distances did require a running jump in order for him to make it.

With Extremis, however, the roof cracked under his feet as he pushed himself off, and he flew over several buildings before landing on another rooftop. He looked behind him again, eyes widened.

He’d just done a horizontal leap over the length of a _football field._ That was _120 yards._

A nervous laugh squeezed its way up from his lungs. Giddy with excitement and brimming with newfound power, he turned and gave another leap, crossing Brooklyn toward his destination.

_I’m coming, everyone._

* * *

 

Rikers was positioned further up the East River, between Queens and the Bronx. Despite being an entire borough away, Peter got there in record time—not five minutes after pulling himself from the water was he leaping over the chain-link fence into LaGuardia Airport’s runways.

He couldn’t web-swing with all this flat land around, but he also didn’t need to anymore. The island was a few hundred feet from the end of the runway, which led out over the river. At the other end, nearly two miles away, Peter broke into a sprint. Even from this distance, he could see lights flashing inside prison, and heard the sound of alarms.

He had no way to measure how fast he was running, but in less than a minute he’d cleared the distance and jumped. The pavement beneath his feet exploded, leaving behind a crater as he hurtled into the air, directly for the island. He hit the ground and rolled to his feet, and skidded to a stop. Extremis had to have added to his durability as well, because despite the hard impact his skin was totally unbroken.

Last time he’d been here, he and Connor had fought Laser and Bombshell on the bridge leading to Queens. This was Peter’s first time actually _on_ the island, and it was a lot bigger than he expected. He scrambled up the hill ahead of him, crossed the road winding around its perimeter, and took in the view.

Rikers was so large that there was no “main” correction center—each building simply held a different type of inmate. The Inner Demons could be hiding their hostages in any one of them.

Common sense told him to check for supervillains any place where there were alarms going off, however, so he sprinted along the grass toward the island’s main gate. A parking lot came into view, whether for staff or visitors Peter didn’t know, but several of the cars had been overturned as if something—or someone—had barreled through the place like a wrecking ball. The trail of destruction led straight to the main gate, which guarded access to the rest of the island. Or, it had, because now it was a twisted pile of metal. Standing just in front of it were two guards in riot gear. Their nervous looks did not go away as Peter approached.

“What happened?” he asked, in lieu of a greeting.

“T-this really big guy, he just came across the bridge and smashed the gate!” one of the guards explained. He had a small beer gut and was in need of a good shave—along with a shower. “He was like the _Hulk_ or something! He broke into the EMTC building and started a breakout! The NYPD’s on their way, but that riot’s gonna get here before they do!”

“Was there anyone else with this guy?”

“A woman. She was holding up a car with her _mind,_ I swear.”

Calypso and Rhino. Good. He still owed them for the warehouse. Peter frowned and weighed his options to himself. He had to find the hostages and the demons, but a mass breakout wasn’t going to make his job any easier, and he couldn’t let that spill into the rest of the city. “Okay. Do you have any big trucks or cars you can block the gate with?”

Hesitantly, the guard nodded.

“Do that. Better protection than riot gear. I’m going to go in there.”

“Uh,” piped up the guard’s companion. Peter thought he looked rather like a weasel, with his narrow face and tiny, cowardly eyes. “Spider-Man, I don’t know if you get it...there’s _thousands_ of prisoners on this island. Even one of these buildings has more inmates than you—than _anyone_ could handle. If those freaks free any more, this is gonna be, like, an Avengers-worthy breakout.”

“It’s not going to get that far.”

The first guard gave him a dubious look. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because they haven’t gotten off the island yet, and once you seal the gate behind me, everyone is going to wish they’d stayed in their cells,” Peter replied dismissively, turning his attention toward the gate and the building beyond. “Now make yourselves useful, and block this path!”

For a moment he felt bad about giving an order, as if he were above the two men, but the fire within him quashed his regret instantly. There was work to do.

Before either of them could argue any further, he sprinted ahead, letting Extremis propel him up the main road of the island. It began to branch out, leading to different complexes, but the Eric M. Taylor Center was the first building on his left. He leapt effortlessly over the barbed-wire fence encircling the EMTC grounds, and ziplined up to the roof of the building. The center was roughly divided into four parts—two K-shaped complexes at the south end, where Peter stood. The main rectangular building was next, followed by the the northernmost building, also K-shaped. A long hallway ran the length of the facility, connecting all the buildings together.

If Calypso and Rhino had freed the prisoners here, why weren’t they spilling out into the yard? There weren’t any staff fleeing the scene either. He could, however, see Rhino’s path into the building—he’d gone through the front entrance, smashing through the parking lot like a bull in a china shop. There was an overturned vehicle on the lawn nearby, the kind of company car seen in Stark Industries and not a prison.

Peter jumped and swung himself down to the large hole in the building’s lobby. Rhino had left him a very easy trail to follow. Deep gouges ran the lengths of the ceiling and floor, evidence of him smashing his way through whatever security had feebly tried to stop him. There were a handful of guards lying about.  Cautiously reaching out with his ears, he registered the sounds of their heartbeats, slow and tranquil in unconsciousness.

They would live.

Suddenly, a voice caught his ear. “Thirty minutes left until we get to kill someone.”

He turned toward the sound, moving past the bodies and toward the first cell block. Inside he could hear so many heartbeats, all of them clustered together, that it was impossible to tell how many occupants there were.

The door leading into the cell block and its wall had been obliterated, leaving a nice-sized hole. It was large enough for him to step through, but he hesitated.

The Inner Demons didn’t know he was here. They weren’t expecting him for a while, if at all. That was his advantage. If he waltzed straight into the cell block, he would lose it instantly.

Looking up, he spotted a central air vent. It would be uncomfortable, but it was just wide enough for him to squeeze through. He leapt up and pulled the grate off, then webbed it to the ceiling rather than just dropping it and risking noise. He pulled himself inside, grimacing at the dust and cobwebs encircling his path. Had these _ever_ been cleaned?

As he climbed up the shaft, deathly silent, he listened to the conversation inside the cell block.

“Are you almost done?” the same voice asked. It was Rhino, and he sounded irritated. “I know you want to please the boss, but there _are_ police on their way. I wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“You are _never_ subtle, Rhino.” Calypso’s voice was far away, as if she were lost in thought. “They are of no concern to me. Especially now that I’ve begun to add the inmates on this island to my ranks.”

Rhino huffed. “We don’t need an army to handle the spider kid—”

“So you say, but I am not one to take chances,” she snapped. “He has made Negative desperate, something I never thought I would see.”

Peter felt a small thrill of satisfaction at that, despite himself. He passed the second floor, and kept climbing. Hopefully the vent would lead out into the cell block—wouldn’t that be his luck if he ended up somewhere like the bathroom instead?

Rhino had not replied to Calypso. Instead, he addressed someone else.

“I’ve never liked hostages, you know. Too annoying.”

To Peter’s shock, Happy—brave, stupid Happy—responded. “Trust me, Dumbo, the feeling’s mutual.”

Rhino growled. There was the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh, and he heard one of Happy’s ribs crack. Rage flooded him, hot and invigorating. He doubled his efforts, climbing past the third floor and into the ceiling. To his relief, there was a divergent path which lead over the cell block. He darted down it, until he reached a grate like the one he’d used to enter. Carefully, he peered through it, trying to map the surroundings.

The room was large, three stories tall with cells lining each wall. Multiple walkways and stairs connected the opposing sides of the room to each other, and led to different levels. On the ground floor were a handful of circular tables with benches attached to their base. With a jolt, Peter saw the source of all the heartbeats he’d heard—each cell door had been thrown wide open, but none of the inmates had attempted to leave. They stood like statues in their doorways, as if they were soldiers at attention.

Directly below him, on one of the topmost walkways, Rhino and Calypso were on either side of their hostages. All three had been bound together with what looked like a thick cable and forced into a kneeling position. They’d fought back, he noticed—Rhodey had a split lip and a gash on his forehead, while Happy was nursing a black eye. But Pepper was unscathed, and looked the least afraid. In fact, she had fixed her captors with a fierce, unflinching glare. Half a second later, Peter realized she was probably _used_ to kidnappings by now, and clearly hadn’t been impressed by this one.

“Wait, my bad,” Happy wheezed. “Dumbo’s an elephant. What do they call you? The Hippo?”

Rhino punched him a second time, and Peter’s vision flashed red. He pressed against the grate, trying to open it as silently as possible—

But he’d misjudged his new strength. With a soft squeak, the grate fell out of place and tumbled down toward the Inner Demons. Desperate, Peter fired a web and snagged it a good ten feet above Rhino’s head. Quickly, he pulled it up and deposited it quietly inside the shaft. Then he climbed out, clinging to the ceiling, and observed.

The anger in his blood had not gone away, but he tried to control it with a deep breath. This cell block was going to be a battlefield, and there were innocents in the middle of it. He needed to be careful, and come up with a plan…

By some miracle, his entrance had gone unnoticed. Calypso’s eyes were closed, her arms spread out wide, and Rhino’s attention was entirely on the hostages. Specifically, he was still glowering at Happy, who appeared to have been spending too much time around Tony.

“No, wait, it’s Rhino, isn’t it? But aren’t rhinos supposed to be...horny?”

“Man, shut _up,”_ Rhodey hissed exasperatedly.

“Alright, alright,” he conceded, and Rhino relaxed a tiny bit. But then Happy opened his mouth again and said, “A lot of guys have the same problem, you know. They make pills for it now.”

Rhino let out a enraged roar, so loud that even Calypso winced. He drew back a clenched fist—

The fury within renewed itself, and everything else was swept from Peter’s mind. He forgot about control, about Calypso and the inmates, about the hostages and the plan. Fire took over, wiping away all rational thought as quickly as a lightning strike, and it screamed only one thing:

_ATTACK!_

He pounced from the ceiling, barreling into Rhino with thunderous force and eliciting a trio of surprised cries from Rhodey, Pepper, and Happy. Peter kicked off his chest, and the Inner Demon went airborne, flying the length of the room and striking the space between two of the open cells.

“What—” Calypso began, but was cut off when Peter whirled around to lunge at her. She threw out her hands, immobilizing him mid-step with telekinesis, just as she had done in their last encounter.

_Not this time._

He heaved with all his strength, pushing back against the psychic grip on him. Slowly, he finished his step. Calypso backed up several paces, clenching her hands into fists and gritting her teeth. He could feel the pressure on him increase, but it wasn’t doing anything to slow him down. In fact, the more he fought back, the more he indulged in Extremis’ strength, the easier it became. Why had he been worried about controlling this? It felt _good_ to let go.

He took another step, and blood began to drip from Calypso’s nose as she strained hopelessly against him. Then, she reached her limit, and her hold vanished like a balloon popping. Peter surged forward, tackling her to the ground.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” she wheezed, her eyes wide with confusion and surprise.

“I took an express flight,” he replied, curling one hand into a fist. Privately, he marveled at how easy it was to subdue her. He could _see_ her trying to push him off, but barely felt the resistance. His new strength would be useful against heavy-hitters, but if he wasn’t careful—

Before he could finish that that, he was seized from behind and hurled off Calypso. Peter quickly righted himself in the air and stuck to the far wall. Rhino had recovered and intervened, his eyes brimming with hate.

“Didn’t expect you here for another hour or two, Spider-Man!” he yelled, then ripped off a chunk of the guardrail in front of him and hurled it.

Peter dropped, landing on the floor beneath him as the spot where he had been was pulverized. “Well, I just couldn’t resist seeing you again! You know how much I love a reunion!”

Rhino grinned. “You’re packing a pretty good punch there, but it’s not gonna be enough against all of us!”

Behind him, Calypso put a hand to her temple.

 _Oh,_ Peter realized, as every single inmate rose from their stupor and turned murderous expressions on him. _Shit._

They bum-rushed him. One leapt onto his back, raining down blows, but he might as well have had pillows for fists. Peter threw him into several of his comrades, then snagged another with webbing and hurled him in a great arc, knocking down even more people. Then he jumped up to the ceiling, out of the mob’s reach.

He had to be careful to not hurt them, but he also had to get the fighting _away_ from the hostages. After a moment’s consideration, he dropped from the ceiling, plummeting down three stories until he hit the ground floor. Then he looked up and called out to the mob.

“Yoohoo! I’m right here, come and get some!”

They roared, and scrambled down the stairs to answer the challenge.

His world blurred into a storm of violence. They had vastly superior numbers, but Peter had more than enough strength to make up for that. He quickly found that a single punch was all it took to take an inmate down, though every time he defeated an opponent, two more replaced them. He hurtled through the crowd like a hurricane, throwing more and more power into his punches as he went. Bones snapped in his hands like twigs, and the inmates’ enraged shouting turned into yells of pain, but they fell on deaf ears. Occasionally, by sheer luck or overwhelming numbers, someone would get a good hit in—sticking a shiv between his ribs, hitting him with a guard’s club or whatever weapon they could find—but the pain faded away as quickly as it came. The only thing he felt was the heat of Extremis, and its raw _power._ It was addictive, and that both terrified and thrilled him, right to his core. He felt unstoppable, invincible, and he wanted this to _never_ end.

He didn’t know how long he’d been fighting, but Rhino must have decided enough was enough. He joined the fray, landing on the ground floor with a thunderous _boom._ Peter spun around to face him, _eager_ for a _real_ challenge—

But the Inner Demon wasn’t interested in Spider-Man’s newfound battle frenzy. He planted his foot on Peter’s chest and kicked, sending him flying through the prison’s lobby and out the hole blown into the building. He landed in the the facility’s parking lot, rolling harshly on the asphalt.

For the first time since the fighting began, pain overtook the euphoria. Groaning, Peter pulled himself to his feet just in time to witness a fully-body charge from his foe. He dove out of the way, then threw a web out to expand around the prison entrance, just in time to cut off the prisoners who were still conscious.

“Rhino!” he yelled. His blood still sang for combat, but the pain had sobered him up a little. He had to try to stay Spider-Man, to stay _Peter._ He couldn’t give in so easily, he had to be _better_ than that. “It doesn’t have to be this way! You don’t _have_ to be an Inner Demon!”

Rhino stared at him as if he’d grown two heads, like he couldn’t believe that Peter was going to try _now_ to resolve this diplomatically. Which, okay, he probably deserved that. “Animus was crazy enough to turn against Negative, and look where that got him. He’s going to die, just like Iron Man, and just like you.”

Bringing up his mentor and his boyfriend was enough to renew the violent urge in him, and this time Peter let a little of it slip through. He cleared the distance between them and crashed into Rhino with the force of a wrecking ball, knocking him into a parked car. Rhino seized the car’s driver-side door and ripped it off its hinges, hurling it like a massive frisbee, but Peter vaulted over it and struck him with a wild haymaker.

The Inner Demon faltered, and he kept up the assault. In a move that would have made the Black Widow proud, he drove his knee into Rhino’s face, then wrapped his neck in a chokehold. Rhino sputtered, tugging at the arms binding him. He was inhumanly strong, and big enough that hardly anyone could physically overpower him, but this time the odds were not in his favor.

Before he could lose the advantage, he kicked out one of Rhino’s knees, then used the momentum of his stumble to slam him face-first into the ground. Rhino went limp, and did not get up.

There was no telling how long he’d be down. His hands shaking, Peter hurried to pull out one of the cure injectors. He stabbed it into the exposed skin of Rhino’s neck, and hurriedly stepped back.

Rhino convulsed briefly, and his skin lit up with an eerie glow. Then, after another moment, the light faded.

Peter didn’t dare move. Had it worked? Or had he just killed someone?

Then, through the post-battle silence, he heard Rhino’s heartbeat. It was steady, and strong. Peter breathed out a sigh of relief. One down, five to go.

His heart turned to lead. Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey were still inside the prison with Calypso.

He turned and dashed toward the facility, ripping apart the webs in his path. The few remaining inmates inside barely put up a fight, but for once Peter’s fear and concern overrode Extremis. He eliminated them quickly, then flew into the cell block and webbed himself up to the ceiling above third-floor walkway.

Calypso was nowhere in sight, and to Peter’s relief, she’d abandoned her captives. They were struggling to free themselves from their bonds, with little success.

“Are you okay?” he asked, dropping down to their level.

“Happy’s a little busted up,” Rhodey informed him.

“I’m fine,” groaned Happy, who was not fine. “I’m good.”

Peter didn’t think his black eye and cracked ribs were the definition of ‘good,’ but he let it slide. The injuries weren’t life-threatening. “How did they get you?”

Rhodey exhaled loudly. “Nabbed us right outside Stark Industries New York HQ, in broad daylight. Happy was giving me a ride, and we were picking up Pepper. Never saw them coming.”

He nodded, and bent down to tug at their restraints. The cable snapped apart in his hands easily, which earned him slightly surprised looks and raised eyebrows.

“Peter,” Pepper said as she got to her feet. Beside her, Rhodey and Happy did the same, leaning on each other for support. “Are you...okay? Where is Tony?”

She bit her lip, and that was when he remembered Pepper had once been exposed to Extremis. She could have more of a clue to what he’d done than anyone else.

“You’re not the only people in danger,” he told them reluctantly. “Negative knows who I am. He has everyone, and I have to save them—May, Ned, MJ, Tony, Connor…”

“By yourself?” Rhodey asked, disapproval in his voice. “Nuh-uh. I’m getting my suit and I’m coming with you.”

“The armors are destroyed. I used the last bits of them to fly here. He’s going to kill someone _every hour,_ unless I get to them all first,” Peter protested. He tapped the injectors hooked to his waist. “I have cures for Extremis. I can end all the Inner Demons and rescue everyone tonight, but I _have_ to be fast. Even if you could get to the compound and salvage something, and even if you _could_ pilot the War Machine armor, I can’t risk waiting for you.”

“You took their powers away?” Happy looked impressed.

Peter seized the change of topic before Rhodey could argue with him. “Just Rhino. I still have to find Calypso. Do you know where she went?”

Pepper’s eyes widened. “She went over the edge with him. You haven't seen—”

An invisible force exploded between them. Happy and Rhodey went tumbling away near a pair of cells, while Pepper and Peter were thrown half the length of the walkway.

Calypso hadn’t fled, he realized too late. She’d laid a trap for him, and he had walked right into it. She rose up from the second floor, several shards of twisted metal—the remnants of a cell door, perhaps—floating around her.

“Really?” Peter groaned. “You can fly?”

She ignored the question. “I don’t know how you were able to resist my power, Spider-Man, but you are _hardly_ safe from me!”

Several of the shards flew at them. Peter grabbed Pepper and threw her out of the way, then ducked under the projectiles. He made a wild lunge, but with a wave of her arm he was thrown into the opposing wall. Her power attempted to immobilize him, as a particularly stabby-looking piece of metal flew at his face, but Peter wrenched himself free. He rolled up the wall, narrowly avoiding being skewered, and threw out several webs at her. They struck an empty space in front of Calypso, then dropped to the floor harmlessly. Peter gritted his teeth. If he could just get _one_ good hit…

Suddenly, the section of the wall he was clinging to cracked and pulled itself free from the building, then hurtled straight for the opposing wall. Before it could turn him into a Spider-Man Sandwich, he jumped up to the ceiling and attached two web lines to the massive, misshapen block. With a great heave, he swung it toward Calypso. But she simply raised a hand, and it exploded into a pile of bricks harmlessly. They tumbled down, only to catch themselves in the air to return to her—and that was when Peter realized something.

The bricks, as well as her remaining metal shards, were slightly in front of her, enough to be in her field of view. Wherever she turned her head, they followed like satellites, constantly in her sight. Could she only control the things she could see?

If that were true, she wouldn’t be able to guard against something unexpected. Something outside her peripheral vision. It was a hell of a hunch to bet on, but as he locked eyes with her from upside-down, he came up with a plan.

Quickly, he switched web-shooter combinations. “I can see that the _building_ certainly isn’t safe from you.” _Come on, throw something at me again._

She took the bait. Several bricks flew at him, but this time Peter was faster. He fired as many web grenades as he could muster into the bricks, and they detonated. The result was a massive, expanding net of spider strands, which Calypso was forced to immobilize so as to not get snared. But the net also obscured her view of the room, and that was the opening he needed. Swinging in a wide arc around the distraction, Peter hit his target mercilessly—his feet kicked the breath from her lungs and sent her flying into the wall on Happy and Rhodey’s side of the room. She dropped to the floor, and was immediately stuck with more grenades. They exploded, blanketing and restraining the Inner Demon where she lay.

It was over.

Peter dropped to floor next to her, and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. Despite the battle, so much happening in just a few minutes, he only felt a little winded. Rhino was down. Calypso was down. Two of the Inner Demons were no more.

It was hard to see this as a victory, but he still allowed himself a little pride as he pulled Calypso free from the webbing, holding her arm in a grip like iron.

“Where are the other hostages?”

Defiance burned in her eyes, and she did not answer. So he pushed backward, pinning her easily against the prison’s stone wall. His grip tightened, and Calypso yelped as the bone in her arm groaned, threatening to break.

“Whoa, whoa.” Rhodey sounded shocked by the sudden roughness. “Hey, easy! She’s done.”

Peter ignored him, and struggled to control his voice as he swallowed the fury rising within. “My friends. My aunt. Tell me where they are!”

There was a brief moment where she stared at him, as if searching for something. Then he saw fear flicker behind the defiance in her eyes, and she spoke quietly.

“Coney Island. He said to pick up some of your people there. I don’t know about any place else.” With an unsatisfied growl, he tightened his grip, and pain flashed across her face. “I don’t! Negative didn’t want anyone to know where he was going, I swear!”

“Peter!” A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he whirled around to strike the offender. Pepper recoiled from him in alarm, her eyes widening, and that made him falter. Reality began to trickle back in, pushing away the anger.

What was he _doing?_

Spider-Man didn’t interrogate people. He didn’t hurt them until they gave him information. He was better than that. _Peter_ was better than that. Or, at least, he was supposed to be.

He released her, and turned around to face the adults present.

_Be Spider-Man. Be Peter Parker. Be better._

Peter took a deep breath, and forced some emotion into his voice. “I-I’m _sorry._ I…”

He silenced himself again, unsure of what else to say.

No one saw it coming, and nothing warned him, not even his spider sense. Something suddenly struck him in the chest, the powerful impact ripping through him as if he’d been punched in the heart. He stumbled as Pepper screamed, and looked down.

One of Calypso’s jagged pieces of metal protruded from his chest like a spear. Behind him, she pressed herself against him to whisper in his ear, “You should watch your surroundings more carefully, Spider-Man.”

Then she cackled, and Peter didn’t even hesitate. Without blinking he plucked a cure injector from his belt, whirled around, and plunged it into her neck.

Her eyes bulged as she choked out a gasp mid-laugh, and the serum began to take effect. Her body glowed white, shuddering as Extremis was purged from her. Then she slumped against the wall, still conscious and standing, heaving deep breaths as the glow subsided.

Before he could savor his victory, Pepper rushed to his side, her eyes full of tears. _“No!”_

Oh, right. The spear. The wound _hurt,_ burning hot and raw like an open flame. She caught him as his legs gave out, kneeling on the dirty floor and keeping him upright. Behind him, he could hear frantic movement, as Rhodey and Happy flew into action.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Rhodey was hissing under his breath, like a mantra. “No, no, Peter—”

“Shit!” Happy had moved inside one of the cells to his left, wrestling with the sheet on the cot. For the first time, he sounded terrified. “Rhodey, I got something! Help me!”

 _No,_ Peter wanted to say, but shock was paralyzing his speech. _You have to get out of here._

He could only lay there as Happy and Pepper rushed over with sheets bundled in their arms—Peter idly wondered how they were going to tourniquet a _chest_ wound—and heaved uneven, clogged breaths. But as the three adults fretted and panicked over him, he noticed that despite his _definitely_ mortal wound, nothing was happening.

Why wasn’t his vision going dark?

Then his flight into the East River came back to him. He should have died well before landing, when he hit the first building. Instead, he’d walked out of the water without a scratch on him.

Again, his eyes fell to the foreign object lodged in him. The metal felt warm, as if it had been left out in the sun, and had begun to glow molten. Pepper let out a shocked, knowing gasp as saw the same sight, and Peter grasped the protrusion with both hands.

Before anyone could stop him, he yanked it out of his chest.

She shrieked, and Happy let out a string of expletives, but there was no torrent of blood from the wound. Instead, his flesh knit itself back together, glowing like embers. He threw the metal aside and fell forward onto his hands and knees, wincing as the wound healed in a matter of seconds. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation—as if he’d been rubbed raw with sandpaper. But as the glow subsided to reveal scarless, unmarred skin, the feeling went away as well.

He stood up slowly. Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy had retreated from him, and he couldn’t meet any of their eyes. The silence in the room was absolutely deafening, and when someone finally spoke, it was Calypso.

She had slid down to sit on the floor, her back against the wall, and was staring at him with undisguised fear. “What...what did you do to me?” Her eyes fell to the hole in his suit and his bare chest beneath. “What did you do to _yourself?”_

He did not answer.

“Peter.” Rhodey’s voice was deadly quiet. “What—”

 _“Why?”_ Pepper overrode him, sounding more grief-stricken than angry. Reluctantly, he turned to face her. “Peter, how _could_ you?”

Words were failing him. He hadn’t thought about this particular scenario—where his friends and family might see what he’d done to himself. Where the job wasn’t finished, and he wasn’t able to say goodbye, but he still had to face the consequences of his decision. To see their horrified looks and explain why he wasn’t going home with them.

“I had to do it,” he said, a hard edge to his tone. Pepper and Rhodey both glanced at each other. Happy, he noticed, was keeping his silence. “I didn’t _want_ to. But there was no one else. _No one._ He had you, my friends, May, Mr. Stark, Connor... I couldn’t stop them as I normally was. I needed an edge, something to turn the tide. Desperate times, desperate measures.”

“An _edge?”_ Pepper repeated, almost hysterically, and threw up her hands. “Peter, I have _been through_ this. Risking your life isn’t worth this!” To his surprise, she cleared the distance between them and gripped his shoulders. “I _know_ what it feels like. The power. It’s...it feels _good._ But this isn’t the way! Extremis isn’t some steroid you can take whenever you need a boost! It could have killed you!”

“It already has.”

She flinched back as if he’d hit her. That was when he decided he could no longer look any of them in the eye. He brushed past her, heading for the walkway. He hopped its guardrail and peered down at the ground floor below.

“The cure.” Hearing Happy speak made Peter look back. He was pale and sweaty, as if he’d seen a ghost. Which, Peter supposed, he had. “You’ve got a cure, right? You’ve got War Machine, you’ve got me, and hell, Miss Potts has a higher body count than I do. You don’t need Extremis anymore, kid. That part’s over. We can do this together.”

Peter hesitated. Maybe he was right. There were people he could rely on now. He wasn’t alone anymore.

Except he only had four cures, and there were four more foes to face. If he used one on himself, even with backup, that would start a long and difficult battle against a stronger foe, without an ace up his sleeve. And without Extremis, he would have died just now. He couldn’t afford risking that in the future battles.

He _needed_ Extremis and the survivability is granted him, and would be a fool to relinquish it now.

“No,” he whispered, and the fire inside him, wickedly pleased, burned even brighter.

Pepper shouted his name, but he ignored her, slipping off the guardrail and plunging down to the ground floor. In a matter of seconds he was outside, throwing himself across Rikers Island and then back to Brooklyn, with as much power as he could muster. He had to keep moving, keep fighting, keep saving people.

As he hurtled through the city, he tried to focus again on his mission, the purpose that would keep him true to himself.

He couldn’t succumb to Extremis, not yet. Not until everyone was safe, the Syndicate was completely destroyed, and—

**_Good luck, Spider-Man._ **

—and Negative had felt his wrath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh...Peter, methinks you've already started to be corrupted by it. Don't turn away help...
> 
> Muahaha.
> 
> These final chapters go 0 to 100 real quick, as you've likely noticed. Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey are safe, but there's still plenty of people out there who need to be saved, and he's running short on time...
> 
> See you next chapter! Don't forget to comment and tell me what you think!


	20. World On Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter rushes to Coney Island, and suffers from the side effects of Extremis when he battles the next two Inner Demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "World On Fire" by Les Friction.
> 
> Chapter warnings: uhhh violence, dark!Peter, here's where a bit of that super light torture warning comes into play.

He flew through Brooklyn at record pace, streaking across the night sky like a comet. Normally, the sight of Spider-Man was a welcome, appreciated one. But if any New Yorker were able to see past the red-and-blue blur and glimpse the wall-crawler beneath, they would not be contented by what they saw.

His suit already had several tears in it from the fighting at Rikers, and Calypso’s spear had just barely missed destroying the spider insignia on its front. Beyond the battle damage, the orange light running through him made his skin almost translucent, and brought about a sinister glow to the suit’s eyepieces.

This was not the Spider-Man New York had come to love.

As he crossed into the southern end of Brooklyn, the perverse glow intensified, and then suddenly exploded outward in a rippling shock wave of energy. Peter screamed, losing control of his leap, and struck the roof of a building hard. Pain blazed through him like a wildfire, greedily licking up every inch of his being. His muscles locked up, unable to respond, and he could do nothing but writhe on the rooftop as Extremis fought his body for dominance.

Then, mercifully, it subsided. Sensory information returned in a rush, and Peter curled in on himself as he attempted to filter out the input. It was another minute before he was able to rise, heaving deep breaths.

He didn’t have to wonder what had just happened, because Karen had warned him about this. His body was trying to reject Extremis.

He didn't know how much time he had left.

Peter glanced at the internal clock within his HUD. The time was 6:52 PM. Eight minutes until Negative executed someone.

He had _no_ time left.

Coney Island was in sight from the roof he'd crashed on. It felt like a lifetime ago since his first date with Connor, and there was a sick sense of irony in battling the Inner Demons here. Peter kicked off from the roof and flew in a great arc, landing in the street outside Luna Park. He stumbled on impact, a little unsteady—

A car horn blared. Entirely on instinct, Peter slammed his fist down into the hood of the oncoming vehicle, crumpling its front bumper and pulverizing it to a stop as the driver’s airbag inflated with a loud bang. Judging by the cursing coming from behind it he was unharmed, so Peter paid him no mind. Instead he stalked for the park’s entrance.

Where Rikers had been seemingly barren, still and silent like a tomb, Coney Island was _alive._ Lights from various rides flashed across his corneas, arcade games rang triumphant bells whenever a patron won, and the sweet scent of sugary, fried foods wafted under his nose. The whole scene was so picturesque in its joyful innocence that Peter’s skin crawled.

He made it only as far as the ticket booth before a hapless attendant—bespectacled and pockmarked, the perfect picture of an unfortunate college student—attempted to stop him. He stepped directly in front of Peter, and regarded his damaged suit indifferently. Either he assumed this Spider-Man was a particularly ragged-looking cosplayer, or his job was so mind-numbing that he didn’t care.

“Excuse me, sir, you need to purchase a ticket before you can—”

Peter shoved him aside with just the twitch of a few fingers, ignoring the poor man’s yelp, and continued on.

Judging by the wide-eyed looks from the park’s patrons, _he_ was the most unusual thing to have shown up tonight. That meant one of two things. Either Calypso had been lying, or he had miraculously beaten the Inner Demons here.

The latter wasn’t _totally_ improbable. Negative had only sent his Inner Demons out to hunt down his loved ones a few hours ago, and Peter could cover ground much quicker than any of them, except for perhaps Laser. But he wasn't holding out hope.

He made his way further into the park, passing under the Wonder Wheel. It spun lazily above him, and when he glanced at the carriages suspended high above, his thoughts turned back to a time not too long ago. When he had been up there, holding hands with a boy and without a care in the world.

Peter thought he knew how to cherish precious moments. He was a fool.

High-pitched laughter rang sharply in his ears, and he brought his gaze back to earth. There was a carousel running nearby, its porcelain horses and dragons bobbing up and down as the children riding them giggled. The blonde, curly-haired attendant in charge of the ride stood at a nearby control box, watching them. As they passed, some of the children waved, and she returned the gesture with a smile.

He moved on, eyes scanning the rest of the park. Maybe he really _had_ beaten them here. If that was the case, he needed to come up with a plan for when they _did_ arrive.

Suddenly there was, out of the corner of his eye, a small flash of light. His enhanced hearing picked up sharp, quick breaths, and Peter instantly pivoted on his heel, whirling to face the source.

The park patrons had given him a wide berth, some of them stopping to stare or trying to get his attention, but their words fell on deaf ears. Through the throng of moving bodies, he spotted them.

Not twenty feet away stood Laser, uncharacteristically still as a statue. He was grinning and clutching a hostage, one arm wrapped around her throat to keep her close. He didn’t need to look, he already knew who she was, but his eyes betrayed him anyways. They traveled to MJ’s face, taking in every detail. Disheveled hair, red cheeks from either stress or exertion, nostrils flared, wide eyes—all of them belied her confidence. She knew _exactly_ how much danger she was in.

The fire within him roared like a lion, compelling him to take action. He took a step forward, but Laser tensed, and gave him a chastising look.

 _Be careful,_ he mouthed, pulling MJ even closer to him. Then they both vanished in another flash of light, startling a family of four which had been walking by.

Peter’s eyes raked over the park again, searching desperately for any sign of the two, but he found nothing. The crowd of admirers had not gone away, and some of his bolder fans inched closer, shouting nonsense he didn’t hear. Their words meant nothing to him.

Then his eyes fell on the carousel a second time, and he knew he’d miscalculated.

Every horse and dragon had a squealing, delighted child on their back. But nestled in whatever nook or cranny they could fit were orange, baseball-sized orbs. They were glowing like little night-lights, but not bright enough to be noticed among the rest of the ride’s dazzling display.

Meanwhile the attendant—Bombshell, he should have _recognized_ that wild mane of hair—had moved away from the carousel and was eyeing him from across the park. With a smile she raised one hand in a fist, thumb up, as if holding an invisible detonator…

The fire roared again, and he did not resist its command.

To the new limits of his body, a thirty-foot distance between them was nothing. He lunged, crossing from beneath the Wonder Wheel to the carousel in record time. Civilians bleated like surprised sheep when they were thrown with careless abandon, as if mere rag dolls, but Peter ignored them. One heartbeat later he slammed into Bombshell with the force of a wrecking ball, knocking the breath from her lungs, and threw her into a nearby photo booth. She pulverized the structure, eliciting screams from the park employees inside.

Her concentration broken, the bombs within the carousel fizzled away into nothingness. Peter ignored the panicking parents and their children, and stalked toward the remains of the booth as its staff fled the scene. He knelt among the broken wood and glass beside Bombshell, observing her feeble stirs as if fascinated by them.

Against his better nature, having Bombshell helpless and at his mercy felt _extremely_ satisfying. With one hand, he nudged her head aside to expose her neck. She groaned and muttered something unintelligible, but otherwise did not resist.

“Rhino and Calypso put up more of a fight,” he murmured. “What happened? Still nursing your pride from last time?”

Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on Peter through a haze of pain. Then her lips twitched into a smile, and she snapped her fingers.

Above them towered the Cyclone, and on Bombshell’s command, the final stretch of the track’s circuit, just before the cars would arrive back at their starting point, exploded into a fireball. Then a set of cars began to move, inching up the coaster’s incline, and its passengers began screaming. If they completed the circuit, they would fly right off the tracks and crash.

_“Spider-Man!”_

The source of the voice grabbed his attention. Laser was sitting on one of the wooden beams directly below the cars, waving.

“Yoohoo!” he called, kicking his dangling feet childishly. “These your buddies? I sent them for a ride!”

Despite the distance, Peter could clearly see Ned and MJ sitting in front. Behind them were other members of the decathlon team—Flash, Betty, Abe, Cindy, Sally, Charles—all wearing equally terrified expressions as the track sloped downwards. Then the cars went into freefall, hurtling into motion and carrying terrified screams with them.

Feeling another spike of fury, Peter abandoned Bombshell. She could wait. He jumped, soaring in a wide arc toward the Cyclone. Before he could hit his target, Laser had already vanished, reappearing below on the coaster’s boarding platform. Peter swung to meet him there and, before he could flee, attacked the Inner Demon.

For all his speed and strength, his fists passed cleanly through Laser’s head and torso as if he were striking nothing but air. Laser yawned, smacking his lips dramatically, and Peter yelled in frustration, rushing him with a full-body charge. But he simply lunged through Laser’s immaterial form and struck the ground behind him.

“Look, between you and me, Bombshell’s a bitch to work with,” he said, as Peter hurtled through him again. “She doesn’t know how to have _fun._ But I can’t let you, uh, do whatever you were going to do to her. Or me. Especially not me.”

Breathing heavily, Peter took several steps back.

Attacking blindly wasn’t going to work. He could throw everything he had at Laser, and it wouldn’t do a damn thing. While he wasted time here, his friends were hurtling toward certain death.

As much as the fire inside him wanted to rip the Inner Demons into tiny little pieces, he had to keep focused on the hostages. His _friends._

Laser said something else, but he no longer had an audience. Turning his back, Peter threw out a web line and yanked himself off the station, toward the cars. As it rounded a corner, he grabbed onto the rear one and pulled himself aboard.

Eight hostages. That was easy, right? Tony had once saved thirteen people from falling out of an airplane. If he could do that, Peter could do this.

There was a small patch of grass in the center of the Cyclone. Peter fired a wide spray of webbing, creating a makeshift net. Then he grabbed hold of Charles and Sally, and ripped their harness off.

Physics demanded that the two students be thrown very violently onto the track behind them, but as powerful as the coaster’s G-force was, Peter was stronger. He unceremoniously flung them into the net, and when they bounced into it safely, he turned toward the remaining students. Abe and Cindy were next—

“Hey!”

Laser materialized in front of him and struck his jaw. Blindsided, Peter nearly lost his balance on the careening coaster. He threw out a fist of his own, but Laser just phased right through it.

“Don’t ignore me!” he yelled over the wind, glaring petulantly. “And don’t save the hostages either! You’re gonna ruin everything!”

A growl slipped past his lips. He didn’t have _time_ for this. He couldn’t possibly fight Laser _and_ save his friends at the same time.

Yet still, the only path was forward, so he steadied his resolve and threw himself into battle.

If “atop a roller coaster” wasn’t already one of Peter’s least-desired stages for a battle, it would be after today. He could stick to the car just enough to avoid being thrown off, but even with his enhanced senses, Peter had a hard time tracking Laser’s movements. The teleporter constantly flitted in and out of view, peppering him viciously with blows from all sides. He wasn’t particularly strong, but his repeated attacks slowed Peter down, and against his will fatigue began to creep its way into his bones. Extremis had endowed him with almost god-like physicality, but _everything_ had a limit.

“HA!” Laser laughed as the coaster dipped, and Peter tried to keep his balance. “You’re barely hanging on! Why was it so difficult for Rhino and Calypso to beat you?”

Suddenly Betty screamed, and Peter’s blood turned to ice. They’d rounded the Cyclone’s last turn, and there was nothing between them and the chasm where more tracks should be.

“That’s my cue!” Laser yelped, vanishing to safety.

His path no longer blocked, there was no time to waste. He hurled Abe and Cindy into the net, then Betty, and...

“Spider-Man, help us!” Flash shrieked as Peter wrenched him from his seat. _“We’re gonna die!”_

He opened his mouth, intending to either quip of offer reassurances, but instead just snarled, “Shut up!” and lobbed him into the net as if he were a particularly loud and annoying softball.

 _Two more, two more,_ his brain chanted as he scrambled over the car to Ned and MJ. _Just two more…_

He pulled off their harness, and they reached for him gratefully.

All of a sudden, the cars shuddered violently as fiery explosions began detonating all across the coaster’s length. They swallowed up more and more of the wooden beams, and around them the tracks began to fall apart. Peter tossed MJ to safety, and then grabbed the back of Ned’s shirt—

The car beneath them tumbled into open air as its tracks crumbled into nothing. Desperately, he threw out several web lines until one of them caught something solid, and swung the two of them clear from the destruction. The net’s webbing cushioned their fall before it broke, and they fell the remaining few feet to the ground harmlessly.

“Oh my God,” he could hear someone panicking. Betty? “What the _hell_ is happening?”

Her next words were cut off by an ominous groan, which drew all their gazes up. What was left of the Cyclone was swaying and creaking in the wind around them. Its white paint reminded him more of a pile of bones than anything else.

Peter was not about to take chances. He began blanketing the space above their heads with thick sheets of webbing, stretching as far as he possibly could and attaching it to whatever parts of the coaster’s base were still standing.

Moments later, the Cyclone collapsed.

One or two of the students yelled, but the fall was so sudden there was hardly time for any of them to react, and even less time to get clear. As it collected all manner of debris raining down from above, the webbing sagged like a balloon filling with water. When it threatened to crush them anyway, Peter threw up his hands and caught it.

His feet dug into the ground as the entire weight of the Cyclone came bearing down upon him. He dropped to one knee, bracing the bulk of it against his arms and shoulder blades. It was heavier than _anything_ he’d ever felt in his life, even the ceiling Toomes had dropped on him.

Without Extremis to enhance his strength, he would have been killed. Instead he simply gritted his teeth and adjusted his position, like his friends’ personal Atlas, and looked around. There was practically nothing around, other than the Cyclone’s remains and a building which had been somewhat crushed in the collapse. No clear ways of escape.

In a deep breath, he groaned out, “Find...a way out...”

When they simply stared at him like deer caught in a pair of headlights, he yelled, “GO!”

MJ took charge. “This way!” she ordered, pointing at the partially-destroyed building. “Let’s see if we can get through there.”

Looking shell-shocked, the decathlon team began to trickle off in that direction, though Ned lingered behind. “P—Spider-Man...”

“Go, Ned,” Peter grunted. He didn’t care anymore about trying to hide his identity. “I’ll be fine. I’m right behind you.”

“Yoohoo!” a voice called through the wreckage, and Ned paled. It was Laser.

“Hurry!”

Reluctantly, he turned and ran after the other students, who had already begun squeezing through the building’s broken door.

As the last of them disappeared inside, Peter heaved a sigh of relief. Hopefully they would be able to get out, and get far away…

On his right, Laser melted through a twisted piece of metal track, and stepped into the field. “Spider-Man!” he sang. “Did you like the fireworks? Bombshell _finally_ got her act together, and she’s pretty pissed.”

Peter sent him a hateful glare. He looked like he hadn’t been touched by the Cyclone’s destruction. The last time they’d fought, defeating him had been easy thanks to his spider sense. But it seemed that Extremis had made him _so_ invulnerable that nothing registered as a threat anymore. That was a problem.

He didn’t have _any_ options. The only trick up his sleeve was gone.

Unless…

“This is really heavy,” he grunted, jerking his head toward the tons of wood and metal pressing down on him.

“I’ll bet,” Laser replied, sounding bored. “You should have gotten help with it.”

Beneath his mask, Peter smiled. “I have help. I have you. Hold this for a second?”

Then he stopped resisting the Cyclone’s weight, and let it crush them both.

* * *

Consciousness came rather quickly, all things considering.

Peter hadn’t even been sure he _would_ wake up. Getting crushed seemed like the kind of thing that would push an accelerated healing factor to its limit.

And yet, as he clawed his way out from beneath the wood, he felt his body stitching itself back together like it was no big deal. Gasping for fresh, non-dusty air, Peter tumbled down to the ground and rolled onto his back, staring up at the night sky.

He patted his sides. The cure injectors had miraculously survived the battle. That was good. But the rest of his suit had been torn up almost beyond recognition. He could see more bare skin beneath his tattered suit than ever before, and one of the eye lenses in his mask was cracked.

He sat up, examining himself cautiously. Whatever rapidly-healing injuries were left, he barely felt them, as if the pain bad been dampened. There wasn’t even any blood on him. Other than being dirty and wearing a torn suit, he was, once again, perfectly fine.

That was when a glowing, orange orb bounced into view in front of him, and exploded. The blast sent him flying, but he quickly recovered and rolled to his feet, looking around for the source.

Bombshell stood on top of a pile of wood and scrap. She didn’t looked much better or worse than when he had tackled her. Evidently she’d gotten clear of the Cyclone before blowing it to hell.

“You...” she rasped, conjuring another explosive orb in her hands. “Calypso managed to tell us you were different, before she went silent, but...you’ve gone completely off the deep end.”

“You started this fight,” he shot back, his voice deadly calm. “I’m just ending it.”

“No kidding.” Her eyes flicked back to where the Cyclone had been. “Is Laser dead?”

Peter shrugged, unsure of that himself.

Silence fell for several moments as she appraised him. There was something in her eyes he couldn’t quite place. Not quite fear, and not quite anger, but somewhere in between. Then, the orb in her hands disappeared, and she relaxed her posture.

“Screw it. I’m not an idiot and I don’t have a death wish.”

He raised his eyebrows, a little surprised. “What?”

“You win.” She shrugged, as if that was all there was to it. “I’m yielding, waving the white flag, whatever. You’re not going to have any more trouble from me.”

“No,” he said, plucking a cure injector from his pocket. “I’m not.”

She took a step back. “Wait—”

But Peter was on her in a second, tackling Bombshell off the pile of debris. She struggled briefly, but was completely outmatched by his strength, so instead she conjured up an orange orb and slammed it into his chest. The force of its blast separated the pair, and they went flying into the dirt in opposite directions.

They rolled to their feet simultaneously, ready for the other to make a move.

“I said I don’t want to fight you!” she protested.

As if that suddenly made them square? Peter’s anger spiked. She, an _Inner Demon,_ had served Negative and the Syndicate for years, had happily tried to kill him and Connor the last time they’d fought, and now just because she wasn’t up for a round two they were supposed to part ways peacefully?

“Why?” he snarled, his body coiling like a snake ready to strike. “Because you know you’re going to lose?”

Bombshell’s eyes widened, and he knew his point had gotten across—he didn’t _care._ She might not want a fight, but Peter _did,_ and he was going to get it one way or another.

He charged. More explosives materialized in Bombshell’s hands, and she hurled them in a wide arc around herself. Their detonations stunned Peter, making him falter in his advance as Bombshell went on the offensive. She unsheathed a large knife from a holster on her thigh and rushed him with it. He stepped inside her strike, knocking the blade free, but before it could even fall to the ground she grabbed it with her other hand and plunged it into his thigh. He hissed, yanking it out so the wound could close up and, undeterred by the pain, slammed the butt of the weapon’s handle into Bombshell’s face.

She stumbled back, her nose bloody. Peter gave her no chance to counterattack. He lashed out with a hard jab to the kidneys, then leapt into the air and kicked off Bombshell’s chest, which sent her flying several feet into a pile of debris. Without losing momentum, he snagged her front with a line of webbing and yanked. She stumbled toward him, wildly swinging a desperate punch of her own. Instead of dodging it, Peter forcefully blocked the blow, striking her wrist with his forearm.

There was a loud _crack_ as Bombshell’s wrist shattered, and she recoiled with a pained cry. Peter let her retreat, watching curiously.

For a moment, he was _almost_ tempted to let her try to run or fight again. But time still was not on his side, and he had a job to do. So he attached a web line to Bombshell’s legs and tripped her, then cleared the distance between them and jammed the cure injector into her neck. After a brief convulsion, she went limp in his arms, and he dropped her unceremoniously into the dirt.

Three down.

Peter looked around, scanning his environment for any signs of life. After a moment, his ears picked up the sound of a single, solitary heartbeat from beneath a pile of twisted wreckage. His eyes followed it to the source, beneath a large, flat piece of broken wood. He picked it up and tossed it aside.

Nothing. Peter frowned, and glanced around. He could hear the heartbeat plain as day, now accompanied by labored breathing. As he stepped further into the empty patch of dirt, he caught sight of a faint, translucent shimmer, like plastic wrap catching light. Briefly, for the tiniest moment, his eyes traced the outline of a person crouched at his feet, almost imperceptibly still.

“There you are.”

Laser let out a panicked gasp, immediately turning visible in preparation to flee—

Peter was faster. He slammed one foot down on the Inner Demon’s leg, and the bone snapped as easily as balsa wood. Laser screamed, clutching the limb and curling into a fetal position on the ground. There was a bloody gash in his side, and he had some bruising, but other than that he seemed to escaped the collapse mostly unharmed.

Except a broken leg had eliminated any chance of escape. Laser’s form flickered like a dying light bulb as he attempted to teleport himself to safety, but whether it was the shock, the pain, or fatigue, he simply wasn’t able to go anywhere. That was fine with Peter—he didn’t feel like going on a chase.

“Let me go!” Laser shouted, struggling pathetically as Peter knelt down beside him. “Come on, you won! You—” He sucked in a pained breath between his teeth, unable to speak further.

“Not yet, I haven’t.” He reached into his suit’s pocket for an injector—

Suddenly, pain took over everything. Orange light exploded from his center in a violent shockwave, and he convulsed as if he were having a seizure. Laser was hurled across the ground, helpless to avoid the blowback. When the episode subsided, and his senses returned, he staggered to his feet.

That had been more intense than the first time. They were only going to get worse before this night was over. All more the reason to get this over with.

“Are you going to kill me?” Laser asked in a shocked whisper, his eyes wide as dinner plates. They stared past Peter for a moment, then returned to focus on him. “What did you do to Bombshell?”

“She’s alive. Alive and just like everyone else now.” He pulled out a cure injector and held it up. “No more powers. I don’t know if it’s painless, but you’ll live.”

Instead of becoming less afraid, Laser tried to scramble away from him, though he wasn’t able to get far with his leg. “Wait, wait! You can’t!”

Peter wasn’t in the mood for listening. He closed the distance between them and dropped down, putting one knee on the Inner Demon’s chest. Then he leaned in. “Hold still.”

“This is all that I have!” Laser flailed, trying to strike him, but he might as well have been hitting steel. “Please! I’m nothing without my powers! I’ll do anything! I’ll tell you where Mallen is!”

That made Peter pause, and pull the injector away. “Mallen.”

“Yes!” He wheezed, nodding emphatically.

“What about Negative?”

Hesitation crossed over his face. “I...”

Peter pressed the needle against the meaty side of his neck, and Laser paled. “Alright, alright! Negative too! Just don’t do it!”

“Tell me where they are, and I’ll consider it.”

“Mallen said he was heading to...to your home.” Peter’s eyes narrowed, and Laser hurriedly added, “That’s all I know! He didn’t even give an address! Negative didn’t tell the rest of us _who you are,_ he just said to abduct these people!”

“And where is he?”

“Somewhere nearby! A shipyard? I’m not even supposed to know that, but I overhead him telling Mallen!”

There was only one thing Peter could think of that fit the description—the shipyard north of here, where Connor and Peter had teamed up together for the first time, and met Hammerhead. Of _course._ It was completely like Negative to draw him back to where this all began.

“Alright. Thank you.”

Laser’s face sagged in an expression of relief—but quickly morphed back into horror when Peter stabbed the needle into his neck anyway. “No!”

“I said I would consider it. I did.”

Before Laser said anything the else, he injected the cure, then dropped him as a white glow took over his body, and he slumped into unconsciousness.

He stood up, dusting off his hands. Four down…

“P-Peter?”

He whirled around, startled. He’d been so engrossed in his victory that he'd completely failed to notice anyone else approach. Ned and MJ stood several feet away, staring at him with identical, concerned expressions of shock and fear.

Ned was the first to speak, wringing his hands together nervously as his eyes darted back and forth between Peter’s face and Laser’s limp form. “Dude, are—are you okay? What’s going on? We didn’t know you were here until that guy took over our ride on the Cyclone. And you...”

He trailed off, apparently unable to properly word his remaining thoughts, but MJ’s voice took over before silence could fall between the trio.

“What was that glow?”

Ned nodded in agreeance, and resignation crashed down upon him, thick and heavy. They’d seen the flare-up of his new powers. There was no way he could escape the question.

“It’s a side effect.”

“A side effect of _what?”_

He didn’t answer. His tongue was heavy and thick, like wet cotton. MJ scoffed. Despite the fire inside him, Peter felt a little chill wash over him. She sounded so...so _hurt._

“P-Peter.” The tremble in Ned’s voice slid into his heart like a knife between the ribs. “Talk to us. Whatever’s going on, we want to help.”

“I...I know you do.” Ned and MJ really would do _anything_ for him. They were the best friends he’d ever had, and more than he’d ever deserved. Come hell or high water, they would be by his side until the very end.

That was exactly why they had to stay behind. Karen had warned him that when Extremis failed, the subject exploded. He couldn’t let anyone be near him when that happened, and if they knew the truth, they would try to follow him.

“Afterward,” he said, the words burning like acid in his mouth. “When this is all over we’ll figure out the...side effects. But I have to save May and Connor and Mr. Stark first.”

“Afterward?” MJ sounded suspicious. “Remember what I said about you needing to stop being a masochist, Parker?”

The smile under his mask was joyless. “Yeah, I remember.”

“You have to promise,” Ned insisted, cutting in. “Promise me that you’ll come back.” He was wide-eyed, looking desperate for some kind of consolation. An assurance his instincts were wrong, that this was not a goodbye.

So Peter did his best to steel himself, and lied.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the shortest chapter of the whole fic.
> 
> It's 1 AM and I'm early updating so I'm tired and just gonna say I love you all, hope you enjoyed it, and drop me a comment.
> 
> Also, prepare for the next chapter. Gonna be a doozy.


	21. All The King's Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's time runs out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "All the king's men" by The Rigs.
> 
> Chapter warnings: Violence, limb loss (temporary, not Peter), implied character death, angsty low self-esteem stuff, and dark!Peter.
> 
> This is a big chapter, folks. I hope it's worth the wait.

When Peter left Coney Island, the time on his HUD was 7:18 PM. He’d passed the hour mark, and knew Negative would absolutely make good on his threat—even though Connor and Tony were closer, May was in more immediate danger. The thought sat like a tumor in the back of his mind, but there was nothing he could do except forge onward. 

He crossed Brooklyn into Queens and arrived at his apartment within minutes. Rather than go up the elevator and through the front door, he opted for the quicker approach—his bedroom window.

Its lock broke with the tiniest nudge, and Peter slipped inside.

He crept slowly through the bedroom's open door, and down the hall. All the lights were off, but his enhanced eyesight could pick out every detail in the darkness. Some of the picture frames in the hall had been knocked off their hooks, and ahead he could see a table lamp lying on the ground.

His heart quickened, and Peter instantly leapt up to the ceiling, crawling along it until he emerged into the rest of the apartment.

There had been a struggle. The coffee table was flipped over, one of the curtains was mangled and halfway hanging off its tension rod, and one of the dining room chairs had found its way into the sitting room. It was missing two of its legs.

The closest heartbeats he could hear came from the neighbors next door. He dropped to the floor, landing silently in a crouch, and slunk through the trashed rooms silently, taking careful observation of everywhere he went. After completing his search, he returned to the sitting room.

There really was no one here, alive  _ or _ dead. Mallen had clearly come for May, but they hadn’t stuck around. Where could he have taken her?

As he passed the television, something caught his eye. There was a mark on the hallway wall he hadn’t seen before, in the spot where the photos had been knocked down.

Four words were burned into the wall, marked as if drawn with a finger. 

YOU WILL HEAR HER

He didn’t like what that implied.

Peter wanted to cry in frustration. Why couldn't this night just  _ end? _ Ought he have saved everyone by now? Every second that ticked by was one he couldn't afford to waste. 

They weren't the only ones on borrowed time. His spine felt like it had been used as a xylophone, and his head pounded something fierce. His body trembled slightly, with every breath. The degradation had accelerated since leaving Coney Island. If he went critical before the job was done…

That thought was enough to sharpen Peter's focus a little. What was he going to  _ do _ if that happened? 

_ I still have some cures left. _

The selfish thought immediately filled him with shame. He couldn't afford to waste one of those on himself. Not with Negative and Mallen loose. They were the most dangerous of the whole bunch. They  _ needed _ to be neutralized, for everyone's sake.

_ But I don't want to die. _

“No one ever does.”

He whirled to turn toward the source of the voice, startled, but in the next second he took in who had spoken and nearly fell to his knees. Black hair combed neatly over to one side, brown eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, and rough, weathered hands—there was no way it could be—

_ “Ben?” _

Sitting on the couch, in front of the overturned coffee table, was his uncle. He was dressed in a light blue polo shirt and khaki pants, smiling at him as if everything was right with the world.

“Hey, sport,” he said. “You’re looking a little strung out there. Rough night?”

Peter didn’t know what to say. This was not like in the cemetery, where he’d imagined a phantom voice without much physical features. This Ben looked solid, looked  _ real, _ as much as he’d been up until he died.

“You’re not real,” he mumbled, taking a step back.

Ben inclined his head, as if conceding a point. “No, I’m not. Not to anyone, except you.”

What were the side effects Karen had warned him about? Hallucinations? Peter didn’t know how to deal with that. He had to stay focused. He had to find May.

“Where do you think she is?” Ben asked pleasantly, as if they were discussing the weather. Peter didn't know if he had said her name aloud or if his own thoughts just weren't safe anymore. “Use that big brain of yours. I know you can do it.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, unable to look any longer. He had to focus, ignore what wasn’t there—

“Hey, do you still have those old Captain America comics I gave you?”

_ Don’t answer. Don’t answer. _ Something forced its way up his throat, and Peter barely recognized it as a restrained sob when he choked out, “Yes.”

“I used to read them to your dad before bedtime, you know. He never got tired of hearing that same story. The hero defeating the villain, over and over and over again. But when I first gave them to you, you wanted to read them all by yourself.” From his spot on the couch behind him, Ben chuckled. “The independence of a six-year-old was much too powerful for me to resist. And when you finished the first issue, you came into the kitchen, gave it back, and do you remember what you asked me?”

Peter did not answer. This was  _ not _ what he needed to be focusing on right now. It was just a painful, painful distraction. Mallen had May, and he had to find them!

“Well?”

He opened his eyes and gasped, stumbling backward. Ben had moved, materializing to stand in front of him, hands in his pockets.

“Do you remember what you asked me?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow curiously. “It  _ was _ a long time ago.”

“I...” He swallowed. He hadn't forgotten. “I asked you why Captain America had a gun, if he was supposed to be the good guy.”

“Do you remember what I said?”

Slowly, Peter shook his head.

“I said, ‘Well, it was a different time, and he was a soldier. Soldiers needed guns in order to do their job. But Captain America isn’t known for his gun, is he? He’s known for his shield. He held the gun because he had to, but he used the shield because he  _ chose _ to.'” Ben paused, then gave him a sheepish look. “Looking back, that’s pretty weighty for a child to understand.”

Against his better instincts, Peter felt himself being drawn into the conversation, and his eyes watered. He’d missed these talks. He’d missed  _ Ben. _

“I’m s-sorry I couldn’t be  _ your _ shield.”

“No, no.” Ben reached out and clasped his shoulders with both hands. For a hallucination, he sure  _ felt _ solid and real. He felt like home. “It's too late for that. Apologies don't mean anything anymore. The only thing that matters is if you fail  _ again. _ Time to let go of the shield, and pick up that gun."

He bit his lip. “What?”

“You are  _ Spider-Man. _ Right now you’re  _ powerful, _ more so than you've ever been before. You have to  _ use _ that strength, all of it, if you’re going to protect people.” Ben’s grip tightened a little, and his sympathetic expression had changed to a hard, serious one. “I know you’ve felt it inside you all night. The urge, the  _ instinct _ to rip apart your enemies. Stop fighting it. Eliminate them, permanently, so that they can  _ never _ threaten you or anyone you love again.”

_ Permanently? _ “Ben, I—I couldn't,” he stammered. "The cures—"

"Aren't guaranteed. What happens if you lose one, or it’s taken from you? Even  _ if _ you can use it on them, you know that Mallen and Negative won't stop just because they don't have their powers."

"But I don't want to kill anyone!"

“No? Not even the man who shot me?”

Peter jerked back as if he'd been struck. He stumbled backwards out of his uncle’s grip, head spinning from the venom in his voice. Then Ben moved closer, and he was too paralyzed by shock to protest or resist. He forced something cold, rough, and heavy into his hands, then took a step back. Cautiously, Peter looked down at what he’d been given.

He didn’t recognize it at first. It was a broken piece of stone, curved on one side and fragmented on the other. It wasn’t terribly big. In fact, it fit in his hand almost perfectly—

Realization sunk in, and Peter dropped it. This was a piece of Ben’s gravestone, the same one he’d accidentally broken off in his anguish the last time he’d visited. But he’d dropped it in the cemetery! Hadn't he?

“Spider-Man cannot defeat Negative.” Ben was stepping closer, speaking no louder than a whisper. Peter looked up at him, unable to form words. Deep within the darkness of his uncle’s pupils, there was an orange light that hadn’t been there before. “You know that. It’s why you gave yourself this power, right? What happens the next time you fight it for control? Who will pay the price for that weakness? How many people are going to die before you  _ finally _ understand that mercy is  _ wasted _ on the evil?”

As if to emphasize his words, the fire inside Peter’s chest purred with satisfaction. At the same time, the glow in Ben’s eyes intensified.

He was no stranger to violence, but most of the time the blows he threw at people were little more than love taps. He’d always saved his true strength for people like Hammerhead, or Negative—those who could take the hits and deserved them. Even then, he did it out of necessity. He didn’t want to  _ hurt _ anyone.

And yet…

The fire inside burned harshly as Peter thought back to the sick, smug satisfaction he’d felt in defeating the Inner Demons. There had been nothing selfless about that pride.

Maybe he  _ was _ slipping. Maybe he already  _ had _ gone down the rabbit hole. But so far, he’d done exactly what he had intended—defeat the Inner Demons without anyone dying. If he could fight against Extremis’ darker urges this long, he could do it a little longer. Long enough to see the job done.

“I  _ can _ control it,” he declared defiantly. “I have to.”

The fire hissed angrily, and Ben’s eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, agony ripped its way through Peter as energy exploded outward from his body again, shattering the windows of the apartment. He collapsed in the sitting room entrance, moaning weakly as his body struggled to endure the episode.

_ Get up, Spider-Man, get up… _

He rolled onto his hands and knees, then lifted his head to stare at Mallen’s message again.

YOU WILL HEAR HER

He would hear her...what? Scream? That was the first thing that came to mind. It was hard to imagine Mallen doing anything that  _ didn’t _ involve hurting people.

_ “You know, our success depends on you, little spider. So whatever pride you’re holding on to, whatever stamina you think you have...relinquish it now. Let him hear you.” _

The words floated to the forefront of his mind, a memory from what felt like a lifetime. Mallen had said that to him in the warehouse, when the Inner Demons tried to use him as bait for Connor.

Mallen seemed the type to want a do-over of their first and only face-to-face conflict. He knew Tony wouldn’t be riding to the rescue this time.

Where had the warehouse been? Near Manfredi Ironworks, which was in Brooklyn. He’d  _ just _ come from there, too. Cursing under his breath, Peter hurried or the nearest window, before stopping and looking around. 

Ben was gone.

He had been all along, though.

His heart twinging, Peter turned and through himself out the window, into the cold night.

_ I can control it. I have to. _

He would save May. He had to.

* * *

 

Any other night, Peter would have been amazed and exhilarated with the speed at which he could travel. As it were, all he could be was grateful. He crossed two entire boroughs in a matter of minutes, and it would have been quicker if he hadn’t had another episode halfway through the trip. They were coming more and more frequently, it seemed. Bad news for him. Karen’s hypothesis about him being able to resist the adverse effects had definitely been wrong.

He found the warehouse almost as if in a trance, guided to it by some unknown force. In the month since Peter had last been there, the building’s destroyed roof had been sloppily patched, and its skylight repaired. He landed, rolling with his impact to mask the sound, and scurried toward the skylight, dropping his eyes to the view below.

The interior looked exactly the same as he remembered, no different from the dozens of other abandoned warehouses littered around the city—piles of scrap, unwanted boxes, rusted support beams, and more potential tetanus hazards. Near the center of the large room, chained to one of the building’s load-bearing pillars, was May.

She was still in her hospital scrubs. From this angle Peter could see a bruise on one of her cheeks, and her hair was disheveled, but otherwise she looked relatively okay. She hadn’t noticed him, but even with a fearful expression and teary eyes, she was putting on a brave face. The relief at seeing her alive was nearly overwhelming. Despite it all, he felt a little more confident, a little more secure. She was his rock, and as long as the two of them were together there was nothing they couldn’t overcome.

“May,” he whispered, placing a hand on the glass—

“Hey there, Little Spider.”

There was absolutely no warning from his spider sense, thanks to Extremis making him nearly indestructible. Someone—Mallen—tackled him from behind and threw him directly into the skylight. They burst through it in a hailstorm of broken glass, grappling with each other viciously, until Peter managed to kick himself away from the Inner Demon. He righted himself mid-air and landed on his feet, while Mallen hit the ground a little less gracefully.

“No, Peter!” May shouted from behind him. That was good. All he had to do now was keep Mallen away. “You have to get out of here!”

“‘No, Peter!’” Mallen’s tone rose several octaves into a high, cruel imitation of his aunt’s. “‘You have to get out of here!’” He leered at her, then returned his attention to Peter. “You’ve been busy tonight, haven’t you? Rhino, Calypso...Laser, Bombshell… I told your aunt, I told her, we’re going to have  _ so much fun _ whenever you decide to show up. All the ways that I get to  _ hurt _ you. It’s like Christmas!”

He did not reply, instead choosing to feed off the hatred enveloping his heart. His hands curled into fists.

“Oh, he’s got some balls now!” Mallen’s eyes widened, and he burst into laughter. “Ready for round two,  _ Petey? _ It didn’t go so well for you last time. You needed your little  _ charity case _ to come save you.”

His eyes narrowed. “My what?”

Mallen frowned, as if he couldn’t believe Peter had to ask for clarification. “You know, your feel-good pet project? Your little rehabilitation stunt? The big bad Inner Demon, who  _ just wanted to be loved? _ It’s pathetic! All you had to do was give a little affection, and he was like putty in your hands, wasn’t he? He’s always been a little bitch. I bet he did anything you wanted.” Then, with glittering eyes and a lecherous little smirk, he added, “Oh, I’m sure he made you feel good in  _ lots _ of ways—”

But that sentence never got finished, because Peter flew at him with an enraged roar. Mallen’s eyes bugged comically for a moment, evidently caught off guard by the speed. He lunged in retaliation, but Peter grabbed the offending arm and snapped it as if it were uncooked spaghetti. Then he drove a fist into the side of Mallen’s chest, feeling unbridled pleasure when one of his lungs collapsed beneath the broken ribs. Mallen gasped, stumbling backward, as Peter spun and delivered a kick to his face with more power than he’d ever mustered in his life.

Mallen’s jaw shattered into a thousand pieces, several teeth flying loose, and he ragdolled limply to the ground, a broken mess.

As exhilarating as that felt to do, it wouldn’t last. He wasn’t like the other Inner Demons—whatever Peter dished out, he could regenerate from.

_ May. _

Peter turned and ran for her. She was staring at him with wide eyes, as if she couldn’t believe her nephew had just done that—which, she probably hadn’t.

“We gotta go,” he said, pulling at the chains around her. They snapped apart like pulling cotton candy, and May wrenched herself away from her bonds.

“Peter,” she mumbled, staring at him as if in a daze, while he wrapped an arm around her and fired a web line into the ceiling, near the broken skylight.

“Hang on, May,” he said, giving the line an experimental tug. It was secure.

“Peter,” she said, louder and with more emphasis. A hand touched his cheek, successfully grabbing his attention. She was staring at him, slightly open-mouthed, and it took him a moment to remember that he looked like he’d been through a blender. “What happened?”

He knew that look on her face—her intuition was always scarily accurate, especially when it concerned him. She knew something was wrong, and he didn’t have the strength to lie to her. Not again, not about this.

“I...”

A roar interrupted him, and Peter hurtled them both out of the way as a stream of fire incinerated the spot they had just been, taking the web line—and May’s escape—with it.

Mallen had recovered. His jaw pulled itself back into place as he conjured more fire in his palms, and rushed at them. With no choice, Peter threw himself in front of May and met the Inner Demon head-on. He ducked under a fiery fist, and drove his knee straight into Mallen’s solar plexus. His whole body shuddered with the impact, but it wasn’t powerful enough to put him down again. Desperate to maintain the momentum, Peter aimed a jab at his exposed stomach—

Electricity exploded through his own midsection, forcing him to stumble back. The pain wasn’t as blinding and intense as it had been the last time he’d gotten shocked. Either Extremis was toughening him up, or he’d developed a tolerance. Perhaps both.

It was, however, still enough to allow Mallen the advantage. He spun Peter around, gripping him in a tight chokehold, and whispered, “You know, I don’t remember this kind of grit from you last time. What changed?”

Peter sucked in what little air he could, then dug an elbow into Mallen’s stomach. His hold loosened a little, but the lack of oxygen was making escape difficult.

“Nice try, Petey—”

There was an echoing  _ gong _ as something metal struck the back of Mallen’s head, and he stumbled. Peter wrenched himself free and whirled around just in time to see May holding a thin, slightly rusted, iron rod. Evidently, she’d pulled it free from some of the scrap surrounding them and decided she wasn’t sitting out this particular fight. In her eyes was the fierce, protective instinct of a mother, more intense than Peter had ever seen before.

"Get your hands off my nephew," she growled, raising the makeshift weapon to swing it again, as Peter lunged toward his enemy with a wild yell.

But Mallen was ready, knocking the rod away with one hand and simultaneously unleashing a burst of lightning with the other. Peter caught the blast in his hands, sliding back several feet as the lightning attempt to knock him down. But he dug his heels in, the warehouse floor cracking under his feet, and refused to budge. The intense light seared his corneas, and he squeezed his eyes shut, temporarily blinded. Then the barrage ended abruptly, and Peter dropped to his knees, shielding his face as Extremis healed the damage.

Then he heard a yell, and his head snapped up. Despite the pain, he forced his eyelids to open.

Mallen had tossed aside May’s weapon and held her close to his chest, one arm around her throat. With his other hand, he drew a gun from behind the waistband of his jeans and pressed it against her temple.

Peter froze, every nerve within him slamming to a halt as cold fear paralyzed him.

“You know,” Mallen hissed, flipping the weapon’s safety off with a soft  _ click.  _ When she heard the sound, May stopped struggling. “She’s supposed to be dead already. Negative  _ told _ me to kill her at seven o’clock. But I just...I  _ couldn’t _ do that. Not when I wanted you to  _ watch. _ Can you do that for me, Petey?”

His eyes were blown wide with anticipation, and he was heaving deep, exhilarated breaths.

“I said—” Mallen pressed the muzzle harder into May’s head, and she grimaced. “—can you do that for me? Tell her she’ll be fine. You’re here now. You’ll save her.”

Peter hesitated, his mind struggling to process the order. But then Mallen’s lip curled, and he hurried to open his mouth.

“You-you’re going—”

“I can’t hear you, Petey.”

“You’ll be fine, M-May,” he recited, louder. “I’m here now. I’ll s-save you.”

There were a thousand responses swimming beneath the surface of her eyes, but the only thing she chose to mouth at him was, “I love you.”

The next two things happened at once.

_ Mallen’s finger squeezed the trigger. _

Faster than ever before, Peter fired his web-shooters—

_ The weapon’s gunpowder ignited, creating pressure. _

—snagged the gun with webbing—

_ That pressure expelled the bullet. _

—and pulled with all his might.

There was a loud  _ bang, and  _ May jerked violently. The gun clattered loudly to the cold stone floor, streaked with blood.

One terrible, terrible moment passed, not even long enough for a heart to beat.

Then she slipped limply out of Mallen’s hold, like a marionette with its strings cut, and Peter  _ screamed. _

* * *

All thought had been erased, purged by instinct, by  _ rage. _

When he slammed into Mallen, the force of the impact was enough to rip them through the far wall of the warehouse. They emerged into the next-door lot, completely empty save for a few rusted, junked cars. Mallen rolled to his feet and discharged a storm of lightning from his hands, but Peter was quicker this time. Darting around the bolts, he slammed his feet into the Inner Demon’s chest, shattering nearly all his ribs and propelling him a car.

Even before hitting the ground, his bones had already begun to heal—Peter could hear it. Good. That meant he could break them again.

Justice was the only thing that mattered anymore, and what was justice without  _ punishment? _

One of the car’s doors was hanging off its hinges. With some effort, Mallen yanked it the rest of the way and then hurled it like an oversized frisbee. 

Reacting with an almost effortless grace, Peter caught the projectile mid-air, spun, and threw it back at him. The door pulverized Mallen, ripping him through the wrecked car and taking one of his arms with it. 

Wanting to savor the moment, Peter climbed on top of the twisted metal and peered down at him. He was groaning, clutching at the stump. But instead of bleeding, it had simply begun to glow orange and regenerate.

“Oh, yeah,” he panted, grinning up at him. “There he is. There’s the—”

Peter webbed him in the face, then hopped off his perch. Walking over to another car, he lifted it as if weighed nothing more than a softball, and brought it down on Mallen’s crippled form.

Silence fell. He leaned his hands on his knees, feeling hot all over. He didn’t like stopping. He needed to keep the momentum going, keep the fire inside him burning. It wanted to consume everything, and this time he wasn’t going to try to stop it.

That was when the car exploded into a great fireball, knocking him off his feet. Before he could get up, something landed on his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs.

“As I was saying,” Mallen said casually, eyeing his regenerating hand absent-mindedly. “There’s the demon in you. Little Spider’s got fangs, doesn’t he?”

Peter jabbed him in the face. Surprised, Mallen lost his balance and fell off. Before he could recover, Peter threw him back into the warehouse, punching a new hole into its wall. Deathly calm, he followed the new path of destruction, walking inside the building.

Mallen was nowhere in sight, but May was still lying where she had been dropped, and seeing her made Peter pause. Inside, a little more of him cracked apart.

Ben had been  _ right. _ He should have destroyed Mallen when he had the chance. He could have ended the threat right there, but he’d been too concerned with getting May out safely, and how had that ended?

If he had fought, if he had stood his ground and ripped Mallen into little pieces, she would still be  _ alive. _

He was so captured by May, that he didn’t see Mallen strike until it was too late. Something struck his face, hard enough to break skin and rip a gash on his cheek. Peter stumbled, Mallen’s laughter ringing in his ears. He put a hand to the wound, but no blood came away. It was already healing.

“I knew it.” Mallen was holding the iron rod May had attacked him with. “I  _ knew _ you took Extremis. It feels good, doesn’t it? The power? You—”

“Shut UP!” Peter roared. He crossed the space between them and shattered Mallen’s clavicle, then slammed his foot into the Inner Demon’s kneecap, obliterating the joint beneath. He dropped to his good knee, and Peter seized him by the throat. He squeezed, cutting off air. Mallen’s eyes bulged, and though the smile did not vanish from his face, there was something extremely satisfying about silencing him this way.

He tightened his grip even further, and felt the vertebrae crack beneath his fingers. It must have hurt, because Mallen flinched, even though the bones were already mending.

This was good. This felt  _ right. _

He had been too late to save May, but at least he could make her killer pay. He could do for her what he’d never done for Ben.

He snagged the iron rod with webbing, yanked it into his grip, and then struck Mallen across the face with it. The Inner Demon tumbled to the ground, wheezing, and Peter hit him again.

Then again. And again. And again.

He kicked Mallen onto his back, then pounced on top of his chest, glaring down hatefully at his enemy.

Mallen opened his mouth, giving him a dazed smile. “You—”

Peter slammed the rod into his windpipe, silencing him instantly. He pulled out a cure injector, and slammed it into Mallen’s neck with more force than necessary. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he whispered, as Mallen’s body lit up like a glowstick, and the inferno inside him shivered with breathless anticipation. “You should know how this game works, but just in case—whatever pride you have, let go of it. Whatever stamina you think you have, it’s not enough. I want to  _ hear _ you.”

When he was done, he would go kill Negative. But first…

“Peter?”

The voice made him pause, but in another instant he dismissed it. Just another hallucination, another side effect of Extremis. He couldn’t deal with that, not so soon after...it was too fresh. 

He raised a fist, preparing to drive it into Mallen’s skull.

“Peter!”

A hand grabbed his shoulder, but its owner instantly recoiled with a shriek of pain. Unwillingly, Peter’s eyes dragged themselves away from Mallen, and toward the other person.

May was staring wide-eyed at him, cradling her burned hand to her chest, wearing an expression torn between fear and heartbreak. There was a gash in her forehead, and blood trickled from it, but it didn’t seem to be a serious head wound. 

“No,” he whimpered, his voice cracking. “You’re dead.”

The fear didn’t leave, but something in her face softened. “No, baby. He missed. It just knocked me out. Hell of a head wound, but I’ll live.”

_ Missed? _ Slowly, Peter looked over her shoulder. The spot where she had been lying was empty.

She was alive?

Something else caught his attention. Beyond the bloodstain on the floor was a window, and with his enhanced eyesight Peter could easily see his own reflection. Behind the eye lenses in his mask, two orange pinpricks shone like a pair of burning embers, and the skin beneath his suit glowed a similar color. Heat was coming on him in waves, much higher than what would be normal.

His first thought was, he looked like a  _ monster. _

His second thought was, what had he  _ done? _

He fell backward off Mallen. May reached for him, but he wordlessly scrambled out of her reach, afraid of burning her again. The stone floor felt like ice on his skin, so cold that it hurt. He wanted to cry, but the heat coming off his skin evaporated any tears that formed, so the only thing he could do was heave dry sobs as he curled in on himself.

May’s shoes scraped the warehouse floor as she approached. When she crouched in front of him, he felt her shadow fall over him, and flinched.

“I’m sorry.” The whisper choked itself out of his throat before she could say anything. “I’m so sorry...”

Eventually, his dry sobs turned wet. Tears were able to form and drip to the ground, and the roaring fire in his chest had quieted enough for him to hear May.

_ “You make me happy, when skies are grey...” _

Recognition instantly hit, powerful enough to quell a bit of his hysteria.

_ “You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,” _ she continued softly. A hand touched the hair on his head. He flinched again, but May wasn’t hurt. His temperature had cooled.

_ “Please don’t take my sunshine away...” _

She hadn’t sung  _ You Are My Sunshine _ to him since he was a kid, when he’d had nightmares. It had been years later that he’d realized how morbid the song’s lyrics were, and he’d asked May why she would sing them to him.

“It sounds like it’s about losing someone, but it’s not,” she’d explained with a fond smile. “The song’s about asking someone to  _ stay, _ because of the happiness they bring you. You are my sunshine, Peter, and don’t you ever forget that.”

May’s voice trailed off after the final verse, leaving the warehouse silent. After another moment, Peter slowly pulled his head up, and dared to look at her.

She was just as teary-eyed as he was, but there was no judgment in her expression.

“Peter,” she whispered, moving her hand to cup his cheek. She was staring at his unnatural eyes, he could feel it. “Baby, what  _ happened _ to you?”

He sniffed, and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. A few seconds passed, and he tried again.

“It’s too much, May. I-I’m not strong en-enough, and...and Ben said...”

She started. “Ben?”

“I saw him,” he explained hurriedly, already hating the words spilling from his mouth. “He...he said that if I wanted to save you, I’d have to...I didn’t  _ want _ to, but I almost did anyway. I just...I just want to  _ help _ people. But I’m just a killer—”

“Bullshit.”

The expletive was uttered with such ferocity that Peter stumbled into silence, staring at her. May hadn’t lost any of the softness displayed toward him, but there was new steel behind her expression.

“If you finish that sentence I will ground you for a month, Peter Parker.”

Despite himself, that made his mouth crack into a tiny smile.

“You are a lot of things,” May continued, and she moved to hold his face with both hands. “But a killer is not one of them. You are strong, and smart, and stubborn. Above all else, you are  _ kind. _ You are  _ good. That _ is the person Ben wants you to be. Not anything else. He would be so  _ proud _ of you, of the  _ hero _ that you are. But if he were here, do you know what else he would say?”

He shook his head.

“He’d say if you want to save everyone, you have to save  _ yourself _ first.”

“But...” He hesitated, not wanting to ask the question. “But how do I know I can do both of those things?”

Abruptly, May engulfed him in a hug.

“Because Spider-Man might be New York’s hero,” she whispered. “But Peter Parker is  _ mine. _ Do you understand?”

Not trusting himself to reply to that, instead he said, numbly, “Tony and Connor. Negative has them. I…I have to keep going. Are you going to be okay?”

May pulled away, and the look she gave him was blatant confusion, searching for answers to questions she didn’t want to ask.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, after a lengthy pause. “Go. Save them too.”

Quickly, Peter disentangled himself from her and sprayed webbing over Mallen, securing him to the floor. Then he started toward the nearest window, only to stop and turn back. 

“I love you.”

Before he could talk himself into staying, he threw himself out the window, and into the night.

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was possible for everyone to walk away, including himself. But the fire continued to whisper in his ear, a devil on his shoulder. It fueled his fear with the constant thoughts—what if May was wrong? What if he couldn’t defeat Negative without Extremis? What if he risked everything on hope, and lost?

_ What if, what if, what if? _

He only traveled a block away from the warehouse before another episode hit. Extremis ripped through him, and as his screams echoed off the alley walls, he hoped May couldn’t hear them.

* * *

The shipyard in Brooklyn was isolated and deserted enough to hold two hostages without arousing suspicion. Even if anyone  _ did _ see them, Peter wouldn’t put it past Negative to just kill the witness.

With a sense of deja vu, he landed on the abandoned grain silo near the yard and scanned the visible area for anything suspicious. 

Nothing jumped out at him. Satisfied, Peter leapt off the grain silo, soaring over the large space of flat land beneath it and the yard. He slammed into a shipping container and rolled to mute his impact, and double-checked his surroundings. There were no vessels in sight, just a massive maze of containers and a few cranes to lift them. Peter bounded over the metal stacks, trying to search the place quickly.

He’d had two more episodes in the time it took to get here. The skin around his eyes itched, and his bones felt like they were made of lead. His breath came in heavy pants, and he could feel the blood pounding in his ears. Beneath his costume, his skin had begun glowing again, and this time it hadn’t stopped. His strength had not been hindered, but his reflexes were slower, as his brain had difficulty reacting to stimuli. Additionally, he’d begun to have micro-episodes at a frequent rate—his muscles spasmed and twitched, sparking with orange energy as they struggled to obey his commands.

He was running out of time.

There was only so much space between him and the water—they had to be  _ somewhere _ within the shipyard. The only other explanation for their absence would be if Negative moved them, and he didn’t want to consider that.

Then, as he rounded the last stack of massive containers, he saw them. Beyond the maze sat a large pier, but there were no ships docked to it, so it was simply a large, flat slab of stone jutting out into the water. Tony and Connor sat at the end of it, each of them tied separately to mooring bollards.

Peter nearly collapsed with relief when he picked up the sound of their heartbeats, and he moved with new vigor, hurtling onto the pier. If he could just get them out of here before—

He’d only gone three steps from the maze when it happened. Tony glanced up, his eyes wide, and then something struck Peter’s back. He screamed as black energy rolled off him in waves, and collapsed onto his hands and knees.

The pain hadn’t been as bad as the first time he’d felt this power, but even with Extremis it still  _ hurt. _

“How nice of you to finally join us.”

Surprised, Peter quickly hauled himself to his feet and whirled around.

Martin Li stood several feet away, in his normal, unassuming form. But he had a sword drawn, the same one from their battle outside Rikers, and one of his hands burned with dark, mystical light. There was something a little off in the expression on his face, and Peter couldn’t quite place what it was.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t  _ actually _ care about them.”

It was a blatant attempt to rile him up, and though the fire wanted to lunge forward and rip out his throat, instead he replied, “The Inner Demons all lost. You’re the only one left.”

Li lifted one eyebrow. He appraised Peter for a moment, then declared, “You’re not bluffing.”

“Why would I be?” A little heat slipped into his voice, but he struggled to control himself. He couldn’t have a repeat of the warehouse. “You wanted me to play by your rules.”

“Yes,” Li murmured. “And you did. Somehow.”

The dissatisfaction on his face chipped away at Peter’s resolve, and his mouth curved into a smile as flames licked up his heart. The inferno was coming back. He’d  _ won, _ hadn’t he? He stood between Li and the last two hostages, with more than enough power to overwhelm his final opponent. After  _ everything _ Li had done, shouldn’t Peter  _ enjoy _ victory a little? He  _ deserved _ that much.

“I told Mallen to kill your aunt. He should have.”

Flames shot through his muscles, emboldening him and eroding away more of his willpower. “He waited. He wanted me to watch. His mistake.”

“Then you have lost nothing, and I have lost everything,” Li remarked scathingly, his eyes narrowed to slits. “How ironic. How  _ poetic. _ I suppose it’s true what they say about wanting something done right.” His sword flared to life with black energy. “I’m a man of my word, Parker. I  _ told _ you that people would die tonight, and it would be your fault. Nothing about that has changed.”

Peter tensed as the inferno swelled, pumping his veins with lava and making the skin around his eyes itch.

_ Don’t you see? He needs to be destroyed!  _

He needed Extremis to win, but it was growing too loud to ignore. “Stop. Li—”

Li’s eyes turned white, and with more contempt than Peter had ever heard before, he shouted, “No! I will  _ never _ stop!”

_ Kill him! _

With those words, Peter couldn’t quiet Extremis anymore. It roared at him to respond, and so he lunged forward, clearing the space between them in seconds and slamming into Li with all his might. The pair flew through the air until they hit a shipping container, and Li groaned in protest as he punched a large dent into it.

“Fine,” he hissed, landing on him and adhering to the side of the container, pinning Li into the metal. The skin around his eyes itched fiercely. “Have it your way.”

Li yelled, and black energy exploded outward from his body, knocking Peter away. Within the shadow’s Li’s entire image changed—dark hair and suit became white, pale skin turning black—and Negative had stepped onto the battlefield. 

With a snarl, Peter flew at him again. Negative swiped his sword through the air, discharging a curved, sickle-shaped wave of energy. Peter dropped into a slide on the ground, and kicked off after the energy passed harmlessly overhead. It struck the space near Tony and Connor, exploding and eliciting surprised yells from them both. Peter turned his head to look at them, concern briefly overtaking his bloodlust—

With a triumphant yell, Negative shoved his sword through Peter’s chest, just under his collarbone, and out his back.

“NO!” he heard Tony shout.

“Yes,” Negative breathed, twisting the sword in deeper. It should have hurt like hell, but the wound only incensed him even more, and rage was a powerful anaesthetic. Instead of faltering, Peter gripped the blade with his hands, and yanked it further through his body. Negative stumbled toward him, shocked, and when he was within reach Peter threw him into the ground, planting on knee on his chest and pinning him there.

Then he gripped the hilt of the sword and—slowly, so as to savor the look on Negative’s face—pulled it out of his chest.No one spoke as the wound closed itself up, but he wasn’t interested in anyone else’s shock.

Negative heaved at the knee pinning him, and Peter had to give him credit—he was almost strong enough to push him off. Almost. Easily resisting his struggles, Peter turned the sword over in his hands curiously. Then he pointed the weapon down, and Negative ceased all movement instantly, staring at the blade an inch above his left eye.

“You know what’s  _ really _ poetic?” Peter murmured. “Using this to finish you. Your own weapon.”

“HEY!”

The shout was so unexpected, it pulled away his attention. Peter looked up directly at the source—Connor.

He looked  _ terrified. _ His whole body was trembling, and his eyes had filled with tears while he continued to breathe deep, heavy breaths.

“Peter,” he whispered. “Stop.  _ Please, _ stop.”

Before he could defend his actions, another episode struck. Peter convulsed briefly as pain temporarily overwhelmed his senses. When it subsided, Negative pushed at him again, but he quickly reapplied strength, keeping him immobilized.

“Oh, God.” Tony’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Peter was unable to look him in the eye. “Kid, why’d you do it?”

“I h-had to,” he whispered to the ground, shuddering. He felt like he was being pulled apart at the seams, but rather than weaken, Extremis seemed  _ invigorated _ by the pain. He could feel it roiling inside him, working up to a crescendo. “Needed to...to  _ save _ you...”

“Yeah? Who are you saving, Peter?” There was a touch of frustration in Tony’s voice, but it was overshadowed by fear and despair.

“Everyone!” he shot back, finally looking him in the eye. Tony met his glare unflinchingly, his nerves solid as steel. “He’s dangerous—to you, to the city, to anyone who crosses his path!”

“And you’re not?”

Peter flinched and looked away. For a moment, the fire quieted a little, slightly smothered by shame. Childishly, he murmured,  “You said that I wasn’t.”

“That was before you took  _ Extremis, _ kid.” He opened his mouth to argue, but Tony kept going. “It’s taken you  _ completely _ off the deep end, turned you into something  _ dangerous. _ Something that  _ isn’t _ Peter Parker. Remember him? That dumpster-diver from Queens, my pain-in-the-ass intern who beat the Vulture in his sweats? Who brought down Hammerhead in a single night, who looked for redemption in people when no one else would?  _ He _ is the kind of  _ hero _ we need, the kind that I  _ wish _ I was. We’ve had enough goddamn martyrs and merchants of death.”

His words stung, but they also struck something in his core, and the fire died down a little. His fingers loosened around the sword’s hilt a little. “People were in danger,” he whispered. “I had to save them—save  _ you.” _

“Yeah? Tell me, who’s in danger right now? Us, or him?”

“Peter.” Still unable to look at his mentor, his eyes slid to Connor. “You know he’s right. Don’t become what I thought I was. What  _ you _ showed me I wasn’t.”

The fire flickered pitifully against his shame and guilt, and he looked down. Below him, Negative glared hatefully, waiting for judgment to be rendered. 

_ You are strong, and smart, and stubborn. And above all else, you are good. You are kind. _

May’s words punched through him like a bullet, resurfacing from the dregs of his hazy memory.

Back in the compound, before flying into the city, he’d made a decision. He decided to end the Syndicate in one fell swoop, and  _ no one _ would have to die. No one except him.

Despite that vow, he’d almost killed Mallen, and now here he was again, toying with  _ another _ life. He was an  _ idiot. _ He’d never had control—that had been lost ever since he threw himself at Rhino and Calypso. He’d rejected Pepper and Rhodey, and he’d lied to MJ and Ned. He hadn’t exercised restraint at Rikers, and he’d outright  _ tortured _ Laser after pretending to spare Bombshell. He’d hallucinated Ben telling him to  _ kill _ people, and he  _ still _ had the arrogance to think he was the one calling the shots.

He couldn’t kill Negative. He  _ wouldn’t.  _ But his reign still had to end.

Peter dropped the sword, letting it clatter noisily on the ground beside him. In the same moment, he reached into his pocket, to pull out the sixth and final cure injector—

He never made it. Negative’s hands flashed, and black light exploded from them, catching Peter directly in the face and making him recoil. Before his vision could return, Negative turned the tables, seizing him by the throat and lifted him off his feet.

**“Absolutely pathetic,”** he snarled, ripping off Peter’s mask so they could look each other in the face.  **“For a moment, I thought you would have the stomach to do it, but you were too** **_weak!_ ** **You could have been a god, Parker!”**

Slowly, he turned the pair of them around so that Peter’s back was to Connor and Tony, then addressed the hostages.

**“Stark. Animus. Allow me to show you how** **_true_ ** **gods deal with their enemies.”**

“You’re not...a god...” Peter wheezed, white-hot pain bubbling up his esophagus. “You’re just...a dick!”

Then he fired one of his web-shooters directly into Negative’s face, making him let go with a cry. He staggered backward, pulling at the sticky fluid. Desperate to keep his advantage, Peter planted one foot against his foe’s chest and kicked, sending him flying across the pier and crashing into the already-damaged shipping container.

“Peter!” Tony yelled behind him. “Get us the hell out of these!”

He obeyed, turning around and rushing to their aid. The chains were ripped off as if little more than cotton, and Connor instantly threw his arms around Peter, squeezing him into a bone-crushing hug.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he whispered.

He opened his mouth to say that he was as well, but suddenly orange sparks arced up his body, and the accompanying pain made him shout. He pushed Connor away, afraid of hurting him, then dropped to one knee. Dimly, he registered Tony saying something to him, but the pain was deafening. His vision, however, was working fine, and ahead of them was something more attention-grabbing.

Negative had emerged from the wrecked container, his suit rumpled and a little torn. With an absolutely livid expression on his face, he picked up his sword and began slowly walking toward them.

Connor had noticed as well, because he turned and said something, just unintelligible to Peter as Tony was. Then rational thought was no longer enough to keep Extremis’ fire down, and it returned with a vengeance. The pain intensified, and he felt heat boil up underneath his skin, faster and hotter than ever as it flooded his extremities.

_ I’m out of time. _

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the last cure injector, studying it while half-lucid thoughts ran through his mind. This was the only surefire way they had to neutralize Negative, assuming he didn’t kill them in the attempt. But even if Peter  _ was _ able to administer the cure, there would be no time left for anyone to get clear before Extremis caused him to explode.

Either Negative would kill Tony and Connor, or he would.

_ They won’t leave me, _ Peter thought, hopelessly.  _ They’re going to die here. _

Unless…

The idea had barely formed itself in his head when the fire reacted. It curled around his mind possessively, like a weed strangling a garden.

_ You cannot defeat him without this power, _ it purred. The all-consuming burn felt dangerously seductive.  _ You need it, even if it kills you.  _

Slowly, Peter stood up. Each movement sent further agony cascading through him, but he strained to push it away. Connor and Tony were giving him identical expressions of nervousness. Looking at them, Peter felt a surge of emotion, a kind untouched by Extremis’ rot.

Love.

May had been right—this wasn’t the end. He couldn’t protect everyone else, protect  _ anyone, _ until he saved himself first. 

_ Arrogant boy, _ spat the fire, disgusted.  _ Selfish enough to risk everything, just so you can live to see tomorrow. Your own skin is that important to you? _

But the blatant guilt-trip fell on deaf ears. Jamming the needle into his neck, he pushed down on the plunger, and instantly breathed a sigh of relief when the pain began to recede. As hate and doubt were purged from his system, an overwhelming surety of strength flooded through him to replace them. Nothing—not fire, not fear, not failure—could break his new resolve to live.

Extremis’ inferno was completely helpless against this new force, but as it sputtered and died, one final bellow came up from within the heart of the blaze.

It roared at him, with terrible fury,  _ JUST WHAT IS YOUR LIFE WORTH, SPIDER-MAN? _

_ My name is Peter, _ he shot back, as the last dregs of corruption were wiped away.  _ And it’s time to find out.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say IMPLIED character death. That doesn't mean it's a correct implication.
> 
> This is a heavily introspective chapter, so the lack of detail on Connor and Tony's part is deliberate. The final chapter is multi-POV, and begins with the final scene from Tony's POV--so we'll get to cycle through all three of them as events unfold and things come to an end.
> 
> In case you haven't noticed, I added an extra chapter, but tt's technically an epilogue. The final chapter will come next Monday. I'm actually still writing it, so I hope I can finish it in time...it's a monster.
> 
> Please tell me what you thought of this chapter.


	22. How Far We've Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony, Connor, and Peter face off against Negative for the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "How Far We've Come" by Matchbox Twenty.
> 
> Chapter warnings: violence, character death. Same as the past few.
> 
> Here we are! The climactic chapter!
> 
> I'm sorry about the delay, but I have been very busy lately and as much as I would love to rush publishing, I'd rather not sacrifice quality. Y'all would NOT want to read my rough drafts of this chapter, hoo boy.
> 
> As I said in the last chapter, this chapter is unique--it is multi POV. We'll start with Tony's POV of the final scene of the previous chapter, then Connor's POV, then Peter's.

Even before waking up and finding himself chained to the pier, Tony knew what he’d done.

Being controlled by Negative implied a helplessness to it, but that had not been the case. Tony had expected to become his puppet—he did _not_ anticipate being an active participant in what had happened.

 _He_ had done those things to Peter and Connor, not Negative. The plan had been simple—bring them to the Avengers compound, far enough away where there wouldn’t be any witnesses, and shoot them while their backs were turned. The element of surprise was his biggest advantage. He'd planned it with a detached indifference, as if it were a mundane task, no more significant than grocery shopping.

In a way, that had been useful. He didn’t, _couldn’t_ question or disobey Negative’s orders, but his subconscious wasn’t bound by the same force. From tapping out Morse code for Jocasta to hear, to leaving Karen free in the lab’s systems, to deliberately missing his first shot at Peter, a part of Tony had been fighting the whole time.

The image of Peter wearing one of the Iron Man gauntlets, terrified and teary-eyed, _begging_ him to stop, was haunting enough that it broke through the spell. Then Connor had touched him, connected briefly, and that hindered Negative even further. If there had been more time, Tony might have been able to shake him off completely.

But time, like so many other things tonight, was not on their side.

The blank space in his memory began almost immediately after he'd arrived at the pier with Connor struggling in his arms. Negative had been waiting for him, and as soon as Tony’s feet touched the ground, everything vanished.

When he woke up, he was sitting on cold concrete, bound by chains to a mooring bollard at the edge of the pier. He’d been stripped of all his armor, his head felt like someone had taken a chainsaw to it, and various bruises from the fight at the compound had started to form on his body.

Shaking his head a little—it only made the pain worse, but the hurt cleared his head more—Tony took in his surroundings.

In the distance off the pier was a shipyard, filled with a maze of massive metal containers. Night had fallen completely, and looking across the water on either side of him, he could see the city’s lights and bustling nightlife. When he took another look at the pier, he noticed that the pier was strewn with pieces of scrap—the remains of his armor, presumably destroyed by or at the command of Negative. Great.

To his right, bound to another bollard, was Connor. He had his head tucked into his chest, eyes closed, and was as limp as a ragdoll. Tony was too far away to touch him, but he reached out with one foot anyways and tried to nudge him.

God, he wasn’t dead, was he? Tony couldn’t handle that.

“Don’t worry. For once, I need him alive.”

Startled by the unexpected voice, Tony whipped his head around to glare at the source.

Martin Li smiled thinly back at him. He was still dressed in that annoyingly boring black-and-white suit that he always wore and it looked very out of place with the sword he gripped in one hand.

“Your protege has been busy, Stark,” Li said.

He noted, with satisfaction, that Li seemed genuinely angry about whatever antics Peter was up to. “Well, you kinda brought that on yourself. That why your posse isn’t here to back you up?”

“Indeed. I did not expect such...tenacity from him.” Li’s eyes flicked down to the weapon in his hand. “I ought to kill you before he arrives.”

“Yeah? Why haven’t you?”

Li’s smiled widened slightly, and he chuckled softly, looking out at the water past Tony. “It is tempting. _Extremely_ tempting. I _did_ promise him people would die. Perhaps—”

Before Tony construct a properly contemptuous response to that, Connor stirred beside him, then lifted his head. When he realized he was restrained, he jerked into alertness and pulled at his bonds.

Li chuckled again. “Animus. It really has been too long. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

Connor went still. There was a slight tremor in his hands, but a muscle twitched in his jaw as he leveled a glare at his former master. “Fuck you.”

Instantly Li closed in on him, moving faster than should be humanly possible. Using the end of his sword, he lifted up Connor’s chin, exposing the vulnerable skin of his neck.

“Much bolder than the last time we met,” he murmured, pressing the blade in gently. A bead of scarlet appeared below Connor’s jaw. “Come now, Animus. Surely you remember what happens when my children upset me. Let’s try that again. Aren’t. You glad. To see me?”

But, to Tony’s admiration, the defiance did not vanish from his eyes. “I’m not yours anymore, _Martin._ My name is Connor.”

Li’s lip curled. He removed the sword.

“The pleasure of insolence is short-lived, Animus. Remember that.”

“Are you okay?” Tony hissed, as Li walked away from them.

“Fine.” Connor bit his lip, then met his gaze. “Are you?”

“I—” For a moment his throat locked up. Then he said, slowly, “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. You weren’t yourself.”

He shook his head. “Not for that. I mean, yes, for that, but I’m talking about what I said in the car. About you and Peter.”

A flurry of emotions crossed Connor’s face, before finally he settled on a confused frown. “You—”

Tony interrupted before he could trip over his own words again. “I’m sorry it took getting _brainwashed_ to tell you that you’re a good kid. That you and Peter are good for each other. But I don’t want you to think that I didn’t _mean_ it. You don’t owe me anything. You never did.”

Connor’s eyes were suspiciously bright, but neither of them commented of it. He swallowed, then murmured, in a thick voice, “Thanks.”

A few moments of silence passed between them. Tony dropped his eyes to the chains binding him. He couldn’t do anything against metal, but maybe Connor had enough power to—

Something flashed in his peripheral, and he looked up, alarmed, just in time to see _Peter_ scream and hit the ground, black energy curling around him. Li had been lying in wait near the containers, and shot him when he’d rushed in to save them.

“How nice of you to finally join us,” he called, as he scrambled to his feet. “I was beginning to think you didn’t _actually_ care about them.”

“The Inner Demons all lost,” Peter snapped back instantly. “You’re the only one left.”

Tony was too busy absorbing the sight of him to call out. His suit was absolutely _shredded,_ but he showed no signs of injury beneath—the skin was completely unmarred, if a little paler than normal. It was as if he’d run it through a paper shredder before slipping it on. He hardly _looked_ out of breath, but there was a tremor to his muscles that couldn’t be hidden. He’d been through the wringer tonight. In the dim incandescent lights scattered around the shipyard, he looked strangely orange.

“You’re not bluffing.”

“Why would I be? You wanted me to play by your rules.” Tony couldn’t see his face, but the anger in Peter’s voice was so uncharacteristically harsh that he blinked in surprise. It wasn’t unjustified, but...

“Yes, you did. Somehow.” Li’s expression soured, and Tony guessed defeating the Inner Demons was the “tenacity” he had referred to earlier. But _how_ had Peter done it? The Inner Demons weren’t exactly pushovers, and even if he had fought them one at a time, a constant rush like that would wear anyone down.

He wanted to be proud, but instinct was holding him back. Something was off about the whole situation.

“I told Mallen to kill your aunt,” Li continued. Beside Tony, Connor shot him a frightened look. “He should have.”

“He waited,” Peter replied, and Tony didn’t like the rising fury in his voice. “He wanted me to watch. His mistake.”

So May wasn’t dead, and Peter had beaten Mallen, too. Had all the Inner Demons had hostages? Were they all safe? What about Pepper?

“Then you have lost nothing, and I have lost everything. How ironic. How _poetic._ I suppose it’s true what they say about wanting something done right.” Li’s sword exploded into darkness. “I’m a man of my word, Parker. I _told_ you people would die tonight, and it would be your fault. Nothing about that has changed.”

“Stop. Li—” Peter took a step backward, and Tony could guess what was going through his head. Negative was a whole other league from the Inner Demons—he’d defeated each of them at least once. If he got past Peter, that was it for Tony and Connor.

“No! I will _never_ stop!” Li screamed, preparing to charge.

What happened next, Tony could not have possibly predicted.

He’d seen people move with superhuman agility. Rogers, Negative, Barnes, T’Challa, they were all able to go way faster than normal people should. Spider-Man, technically, also belonged in that category. But when Peter bent his knees and leapt toward Li, he moved so fast that his form blurred into a red-and-blue streak. In the blink of an eye, he’d thrown himself into Li with the force of a wrecking ball, and the pair crashed into a shipping container, putting a massive dent into it. Li hadn’t even been able to meet him head-on, or counter. It was a level of speed Tony had only ever seen once before, in Pietro Maximoff.

It was also _well_ beyond the limits of what he knew Peter’s physiology to be.

An explosion of black light consumed the both of them, and blew Peter backward, closer to the pier. Out of the darkness, Negative swung his sword and threw a wave of the sinister energy at Peter. He dodged, slipping under it as if this were a game of limbo, and Tony’s eyes widened as the bolt kept going—

It struck the ground in front of him and Connor, exploding and knocking them into their bollards. They both yelled, surprised by the near miss. Through the chaos, Tony saw Peter turning his head to look at them—

Then he jerked, and the tip of Negative’s sword emerged from his back.

 _“NO!”_ Tony screamed, as Peter looked down at the wound. He still had his mask on and his back was turned, but Tony didn’t need to see his face to know that the shock of the wound was numbing his nerves, and making him sluggish. Gleefully, Negative drove the blade in deeper, and Tony knew right then and there that he was going to _murder_ the son of a bitch.

He thrashed at his bonds, even though it was useless. Beside him, Connor was frozen as tears slipped silently and freely down his cheeks.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Peter yanked the blade deeper inside him, pushing it further out his back. Negative stumbled closer, caught off guard, and Peter struck. He seized Negative by his front and hurled him into the ground, almost at Tony’s feet. Then he knelt, planting one knee on Negative’s chest and pinning him there.

Dimly, Tony wondered, _What the fuck is happening?_

Peter pulled the sword out of his chest. His wound closed up with a sinister orange glow, heat sparking the flesh back together, until there was nothing left. Not even a scar.

With horror, Tony understood now. The suit looked shredded because Peter _had_ been shredded. Over and over again, each time recovering instantly and leaving no evidence behind. The same way Aldrich Killian had been able to survive being blown up inside the Mark 43.

There was only one thing with this power, and Tony had the only copy. It was in the compound, where…

Where Peter—selfless, reckless, _stupid_ Peter—had been left all alone, likely thinking everyone he loved was going to die unless he saved them all.

He’d taken Extremis.

Peter was completely ignoring them. He turned Negative’s sword over in his hands with a kind of malicious reverence, stopping when the blade pointed down at Negative’s face.

“You know what’s _really_ poetic? Using this to finish you. Your own weapon.”

The calm captivation in his voice had horrified Tony into silence, but not Connor.

“HEY!”

Tony glanced over at him, as Peter did the same, and his heart broke a little more. Connor was still openly crying, and he shook like a leaf in the wind. It occurred to Tony that while this was about as awful as a situation could be for himself, this must be a different, _special_ kind of nightmare for him.

“Peter, stop. _Please,_ stop,” he begged softly.

The next instant, orange energy ripped up Peter’s body, and his muscles locked up as if having a seizure. He grunted loudly, barely holding back a scream behind clenched teeth. Negative attempted to push back against the knee pinning him, but even in agony Peter was strong enough to keep him down. When the episode ended, his shoulders slumped and he looked to the ground.

“Oh, God,” Tony whispered, finally finding his voice. “Kid, why’d you do it?”

“I h-had to,” was his strangled reply. “Needed to...to _save_ you...”

That sparked annoyance which, even despite his shock, quickly escalated to frustration. “Yeah? Who are you saving, Peter?”

Peter’s head snapped up to stare him down, but Tony didn’t budge. “Everyone! He’s dangerous—to you, to the city, to anyone who crosses his path!”

 _Seriously?_ “And you’re not?” he demanded.

It was as if some horrible curse of irony had been cast upon them, for him to take back the apology he'd given in the penthouse over a month ago. But facts were facts, and if Tony could say or do anything to keep Peter from becoming a _killer,_ then he would.

Miraculously, it worked. Peter flinched slightly, and broke eye contact. His next response was more controlled, just a little. “You said that I wasn’t.”

Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes—of all the things, that was his defense?—and steamrolled over whatever argument he was going to come up with next. “That was before you took Extremis, kid. It’s taken you completely off the deep end, turned you into something dangerous.” Peter flinched again, but Tony kept on going—this was the most Peter-like behavior he’d seen thus far. “Something that isn’t Peter Parker. Remember him? That dumpster-diver from Queens, my pain-in-the-ass intern who beat the Vulture in his sweats? Who brought down Hammerhead in a single night, who—” He glanced at Connor, who was watching everything unfold. “—looked for redemption in people when no one else would?”

He couldn’t tell if any of his words were hitting home beneath the mask, so he dug deeper into himself, pulling out what he kept close to the chest, because right now he wanted to see _Peter,_ not Spider-Man or the dark avenger he’d turned himself into. _“He_ is the kind of _hero_ we need, the kind I _wish_ I was.”

God, was it the most selfish truth he’d ever told. He admired this kid’s earnest, genuine attempts to make the world a better place—he’d be Spider-Man regardless of Tony, of tragedy, of even his _powers._ He was the kind of person who came along once in a generation, who touched the world and lit up people’s hearts.

“We’ve had enough goddamn martyrs and merchants of death,” he finished, trying to sound solemn, and keep the bitterness out of his voice. _Come on, kid. Come back to me._

“People were in danger.” Peter’s tone had lost a lot of its fight. “I had to save them—save _you.”_

That was exactly the kind of self-sacrificing bullshit excuse Tony told Pepper when things between them had gotten really bad. He knew exactly what to say back.

“Yeah? Tell me, who’s in danger right now? Us, or him?”

“Peter,” Connor called out suddenly. “You know he’s right. Don’t become what I thought I was. What _you_ showed me I wasn’t.”

 _Damn right, kid,_ Tony thought.

Peter hesitated one second longer. Then he dropped the sword, and reached into his pocket—

But Negative struck, blinding him with a flash of light and overpowering him.

 **“Absolutely pathetic. For a moment, I thought you would have the stomach to do it,”** he snarled, lifting Peter up by the neck. Then he ripped off Peter’s mask, and Tony nearly threw up.

The orange glow traveled up his skin, pulsating and making his veins slightly visible beneath them. But what truly horrified him was his eyes—they burned red-hot, and the skin around them was cracked and glowing like molten rock. The fractured skin traveled all the way down his cheeks, like tear tracks, and was spilling down the rest of his body like an infection.

 **“But you were too** **_weak!_ ** **You could have been a god, Parker!”**

Then he turned around, and flashed a grin at Tony.

 **“Stark. Animus. Allow me to show you how** **_true_ ** **gods deal with their enemies.”**

Peter choked out, “You’re not...a god… You’re just...a dick!”

Then he webbed Negative in the face, forcing him to be released. Peter quickly took advantage of the situation and kicked him down the length of the pier, into the dented shipping container.

“Peter!” Tony yelled. “Get us the hell out of these!”

He did so immediately, snapping the chains off without any effort. Tony rose to his feet, while Connor threw himself at his boyfriend and swept him in an embrace.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

But the reunion was short-lived—Peter screamed as Extremis sent flaming energy cascading down his body. He pushed Connor away and dropped to one knee as the molten cracks around his eyes turned bright red.

“Peter! Peter, look at me!”

His words fell on deaf ears—Extremis had consumed Peter. He simply crouched there, frozen in agony as the energy built up inside him.

“Mr. Stark!” Connor yelled, pointing ahead of them. Negative had collected himself, retrieved his sword, and was now stalking toward them.

Tony’s eyes fell to his destroyed armor a few feet away. It _was_ salvageable, but there was no way he could scrounge up a propulsion system powerful enough to fly Connor away before Peter went supernova.

“What do we do?” Connor asked, desperately. “Mr. Stark?”

Tony couldn’t answer. He didn’t have a plan. He couldn’t think…

Peter stood up.

They both turned their heads to stare at him, and he was looking back, with a strange expression on his face. A softness Tony felt like he hadn’t seen in ages.

Love.

Then Peter stabbed something into his neck, and his body lit up in a white glow. Tony shielded his eyes, and as he looked away, he caught sight of an injector dropping to the ground and rolling away.

Even Negative, still several yards away from them, had paused his advance to observe. The brightness faded, leaving Peter behind.

The cracks around his eyes and the orange glow under his skin were gone. He was pale, and sweaty, and breathing heavily, but he...he was fine.

 _The cure,_ Tony realized belatedly. _He used it on himself._

The relief that crashed through him was so rough that he nearly collapsed. As it were, he did reach out a hand and steady himself against Peter’s shoulder.

“Mr.—”

Tony seized him by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug.

“Stop calling me that, you brat,” he wheezed, as Peter awkwardly patted his back.

“GUYS!”

A flash of black light erupted behind Peter, and Tony let go just in time to see Connor erect a barrier of darkness. Negative’s blast slammed into it and exploded, taking the shield with it, but it had served its purpose.

“We still have a situation!” Connor yelled, a few feet in front of them.

Tony glanced at Peter, asking a silent question.

“I’m good,” he replied, squaring his shoulders. “We can do this.”

When it was him who said that, Tony actually believed it.

“Armor’s busted right now. Can you hold him off while I get something working?” he asked.

* * *

It wasn’t exactly like they had a choice, but Connor still considered the question seriously.

Negative had more power than all three of them combined, so a victory seemed unlikely unless they had some kind of miracle. But keeping him distracted, keeping him busy...

“I think so. Just don’t keep us waiting,” he warned. Peter nodded, stepping to his side.

“Good. Go!”

Not needing to be told twice, the boys turned and dashed for Negative, who was almost upon them. He raised his sword as they charged, and with a swing, discharged a blast from the weapon.

They dodged, Peter vaulting off his back and Connor somersaulting underneath the wave of darkness, and immediately retaliated. Connor threw energy bolts of his own, distracting Negative until Peter blitzed him with a fist to the head. Negative swiped, but missed—even without Extremis, Peter was a difficult target to hit.

They quickly fell into an easy rhythm. The boys were each two very different types of attackers, and Negative couldn’t simultaneously defend against them both. If he blocked a close-quarters strike from Peter, he was left vulnerable to a blast from Connor. If he tried to counter Connor with his own powers, Peter was able to hit him while his guard was down.

With every blow they dealt, Connor grew more and more amazed at how different this was from Rikers. Negative seemed as strong as he’d always been, but this time they fought on even ground with him. What had changed? It wasn’t like they’d spent a lot of time _preparing_ for this rematch. Yet they moved with the fluidity of seasoned partners, weaving around and covering each other’s backs like it was second nature.

Then, as he threw a bolt into Negative’s sword hand before it could cut Peter, he understood with a jolting realization. Negative hadn’t been brought _down_ to their level—they had _risen_ to his. Their conviction was leagues greater than it had previously been.

They could win this time. They _would_ win this time.

So they danced around Negative, a whirling waltz of strength and speed, keeping him on the defensive and inching toward the maze of containers. He tried to gain ground, firing twin blasts of energy at both, but they covered each other—Peter pulling him aside with webbing, Connor throwing up a barrier to block the shot heading for Peter's back.

Roaring, Negative stabbed the ground with his sword and unleashed a series of dark, cascading shock waves. Emboldened by their success, Connor rushed to meet the blast head-on, striking the ground in front of it with his own power. The energies merged and canceled each other out, dissipating instantly, but through the smoke Negative fired a second blast. Connor managed to respond just in time, and the twin streams collided with each other, battling for dominance.

When they had last locked like this, Connor had almost immediately been overwhelmed. This time, he was fighting back—and it showed. Negative’s eyes widened as his efforts continued to bear no fruit, and he ceased firing, dodging Connor’s now-unimpeded blast.

Peter threw out a web line and snagged his sword. Negative was strong enough to not be disarmed, but with his weapon held at bay, Connor spotted an opportunity.

Rather than throw another bolt or blast, he darted forward and punched Negative in the jaw, enjoying the satisfying sound it made. God, how he had _dreamed_ of someday being able to do that. Now he felt like Christmas had come early.

Negative stumbled back, rubbing his chin. Peter fell into step at Connor’s side, and the pair slowly advanced upon their foe.

 **“I should have killed you along with Sable, Animus,”** Negative growled, his eyes darting between them.

“Yeah, you should have,” Connor retorted. If she was looking down on him, he hoped she was happily watching this.

“Well _I_ don’t think so,” Peter piped up, and Connor almost laughed at hearing the cheeky tone in his voice. He’d missed that. “You’re a pretty good matchmaker, Negative. Maybe you should have started a dating app instead of, y’know, being a terrorist nutjob.”

Negative's sword flared with dark light, and Connor tensed, but Peter was faster. He darted forward and launched him into the air with a vicious uppercut, while Connor followed up with an energy bolt. It struck Negative and exploded, sending him flying in a great arc into the towering maze.

“Nice hit!” Peter complimented.

Then, granted a brief reprieve from the battle, he immediately dropped like dead weight. Connor caught him before he could hit the ground.

“I’m okay,” he insisted, trying to wave him off. “Just...need a minute.”

That wasn’t surprising. He no longer had Extremis’ incredible stamina, and his body was undoubtedly exhausted by all the trauma it had gone through. Still, Connor strongly disagreed with the excuse.

“I think you need more than a minute.”

“Hey, listen,” Peter continued, giving him an intent, earnest look. “There’s something I gotta tell you—”

He was cut off by a massive _boom_ from within the maze. Rippling waves of darkness crashed into the containers and sent them hurtling toward the pair, like giant Legos of death.

Peter dove into action, seizing the back of Connor’s shirt and jumping high into the air. The sudden ascendance terrified him, and he held on tightly as they soared over the flying containers. Below them, a swirling mass of shadows had formed in the center of the maze, like a miniature black hole. It pulsed violently, sending more shockwaves outward and flinging more containers.

“Where’s Mr. Stark?” Connor yelled, glancing behind him at the pier. He couldn’t see anything behind the containers which had crashed there, some of them lying halfway in the water.

“He’s okay!” Peter called back reassuringly. “He always is!”

As they began to descend, a bright light had shot up from the pier—their cavalry had gotten his armor working. Distracted, Connor drew his eyes away from the pulsating anomaly below them to watch Tony’s flight—just as the mass dissipated, and Negative emerged from within.

He didn’t see what happened next, but suddenly black light flew around them, _much_ too close for comfort. Peter yelled and as they tumbled into a freefall, completely out of control, Connor belatedly realized that Negative must have fired at them.

They hit the ground ungracefully, thrown away from each other and tumbling across the shipyard’s hard asphalt. Ahead lay a container on its side, and Connor just barely caught a glimpse before he slammed into it. His vision exploded into stars and he slumped to the ground, brain bouncing inside his skull as all momentum came to an abrupt halt. For a moment he lay there blinded and deafened, as all other sensory input became muted by pain.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, but the disorientation was only temporary. When his senses began to return, the first thing he heard were the sounds of repulsors and Negative’s power crackling.

Despite his body’s screaming protests, Connor forced himself to get up. He had indeed landed in the shadow of a container, and the sounds he’d heard weren’t incorrect—Tony was fighting Negative.

Now that he was closer, Connor could see that only _some_ of the suit had been salvaged—the boot thrusters and the upper half of the armor’s chest plate had been repaired, and he’d fired up the one gauntlet that Peter had _not_ taken from him back at the compound. But there was no helmet and no outer exoskeleton. It was hardly a full Iron Man armor. In the hands of anyone else, it would have been nearly useless. But its pilot was not so ordinary.

Tony rocketed toward Negative, but just before making contact, killed power to his boots. He flipped end-over-end and planted his feet on Negative's chest, then ignited them again. The force of the thrust blew him off his feet, and before he could even get back up Tony closed in on him to continue the assault, trying to drive him further and further away.

Watching the two of them battle was unlike anything Connor had ever seen. By now he knew Tony to be a man of action, not talk. He didn’t bother stating things when he could just as easily _do_ them. So even though he did not speak as he warred with Negative, he radiated an unmistakable aura—something deep and instinctive, as fiercely devoted and wildly savage as a wolf defending his cubs.

Negative, by contrast, moved with the power and bloodlust of a predator second to none, like a jaguar going in for the kill. He sought out every possible weakness, any potential chink in his opponent’s armor, and he did so without mercy—as Connor watched, he drew a line across Tony’s chestplate with his sword. The arc reactor sparked dangerously, and Tony reeled back from the blow as Negative pursued the vulnerability, turning the tide of the battle in seconds.

“CONNOR!”

Startled, he snapped out of his daze. Tony had spotted him sitting upright, like a moron, in the middle of the battlefield.

“TAKE PETER AND GO!” he yelled, grabbing Negative’s sword with his gauntleted hand before it could carve into him. “NOW!”

Peter! Adrenaline flooded him, and Connor scanned the area wildly. He didn’t have to look far—Peter had landed several feet away, and was clutching at a wound in his side. It didn’t appear deep, but it had a wide surface area and looked painful enough to immobilize, sizzling like freshly grilled meat.

Hastily, he scrambled across the ground, over to him, and hurried to inspect the wound. But Peter winced and covered it with his hands, face still screwed up in an expression of pain.

“Let me see,” Connor whispered, gently pushing them out of the way.

He wasn’t a doctor, but it _seemed_ to look worse than it really was. It was a glancing blow, and had cauterized the wound as soon as it struck. Blood loss wasn’t going to be a concern, but pain could still put a person into shock, right?

“Connor,” Peter said thickly, evidently unconcerned with the injury. “We can’t...we can’t...”

 _We can’t leave,_ he was trying to say, and he was right.

“We’re not,” Connor whispered. “Trust me. _No one_ is getting left behind.”

“Con, wait—” Peter’s hand shot out to seize his wrist. “I have to tell you. I—”

An explosion cut him off, shaking the ground beneath them. Connor whirled around to look at the battle.

Near a shipping container, Negative had thrown Tony into the ground, and had a foot pressed down on the damaged arc reactor in his chestplate. With both hands, he held his sword above his head, preparing to stab down.

Panic seized him, and Connor did the first thing which came to mind. He jumped to his feet, wrenching his wrist free from Peter’s grip, and hurled a bolt of darkness. It struck Negative’s directly in the back, making him stumble. Forgetting Tony, he whirled around to bare his teeth in a snarl at the offender.

 **“Animus,”** he hissed, stalking toward him.

Connor matched his pace, approaching without hesitation. He conjured up more bolts and threw them as he advanced, though Negative deflected them with his sword.

Undeterred, he continued the assault, letting the power crawl up his arms. It swirled around him as he hurled more and more projectiles, and even though Negative continued to block them all successfully, the relentless barrage quickly began to slow him down.

Then the energy exploded forth from his hands like a bursting dam. Negative caught the blast with his sword, shielding himself from it, but its power still slammed him to a halt. He dropped to one knee as Connor continued his advance, letting all the rage and hurt pour out of him. He’d carried these feelings for three years—it was time to return them to their source.

“I am not Animus!” he shouted, now mere feet from Negative, who was barely visible beneath the torrent. “I’m not your child, and I’m not an Inner Demon! I DO NOT BELONG TO YOU!”

His power swelled, reaching a crescendo, and Connor had never felt anything like it before. It electrified him, surging through his core and striking the deepest part of his being. It was as if it had tapped into feelings he’d never known were _possible._

“These people are my family!” he shouted down at Negative, and the exhilaration of just _saying_ that made him feel more alive. “I chose them, and I WON’T LET YOU HURT THEM!”

As he stepped forward, the light pouring from his hands changed, briefly switching from black to white—

Only to vanish altogether as Negative lunged through the flood of energy and, in one fluid motion, shoved his sword cleanly through Connor’s midsection.

His mouth opened in a silent gasp, and behind him Peter let out a strangled cry. He pitched forward, but Negative caught him before he could hit the ground, rising to stand simultaneously.

 **“No,”** he whispered softly into Connor’s ear. **“You will die with them.”**

Then he viciously yanked the weapon free, and hit his chest with an open-palm strike, sending him flying back toward where Peter lay.

“Connor!” Peter screamed. “No, _no!_ Connor!”

Shock had paralyzed his vocal cords and his body felt as if it were made of lead, but he’d hit the ground facing Peter’s direction and had a clear view. Peter wasn’t in any better condition to be moving, but nevertheless he was crawling with whatever strength he could muster. The wound in his side still stuck out like an ugly stain, and every movement must have hurt like hell, but he made no noise of protest. His brown eyes had filled with tears and bubbled over, streaking down his cheeks.

He was dirty, sweaty, and bloody, but still the most beautiful thing Connor had ever seen. As strength quickly left his body, he used the last of it to reach out one hand toward him.

 _Please,_ he pleaded silently, with wide and unblinking eyes. _Please, come closer._

He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t have a plan. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the two of them. The rest of the universe had faded away into white noise.

After what felt like an eternity, Peter’s fingertips brushed his, and Connor jerked as he felt vitality seep into him. The connection appeared between them weakly, like a dying candlelight, but it was there. Within it, they—their lights, their souls, whatever they were in this realm—drifted near each other like twin suns. But darkness surrounded Connor, reaching out with smoky tendrils to touch Peter with its poisonous influence.

 _No,_ he told it. _Stop._

The darkness did not like that. It ignored him, reaching further and further into Peter, trying to absorb as much of his light as it could. It would take everything in order to save itself, if it had to.

 _Stop,_ Connor ordered again, this time with more force. Reluctantly, it obeyed. That was when a second voice reverberated through the connection, and it took him a moment to realize that it was coming from the other light.

_Yes. Please. Take whatever you need. Come back to me._

Practically salivating, the darkness waited expectantly for Connor to relinquish control—but he did not. He knew what he had to do.

_Peter._

_Connor?_

_Let me in._

He did, instantly—the trust was so raw and honest that Connor would have wept if he’d had the strength. The darkness surged forward, eager to devour Peter—but Connor fought back. He didn’t want it to stop. He wanted it to _change._

 _All I’ve ever done with this ability is take,_ he said, as Peter’s light flickered anxiously. _Just once, I want to give._

The darkness evaporated, howling, all trace of shadow banished as Connor—for the first time in his life—willed everything he had into another person.

 _You are so good,_ he whispered, as Peter’s light intensified, blistering with newfound power. _If I’m going to die, I’m glad it’s so you can live._

He didn’t know what was going to happen next, or even what was happening _right now._ But as Connor’s last conscious thought faded away, it left with one final declaration.

_I love you._

* * *

Peter got to his feet.

He felt foggy, as if the last few seconds hadn’t really happened. He felt like a stranger piloting his own body. This wasn’t him, but it _was_ him.

Vitality surged through his veins, a power almost familiar in its intensity. But Extremis had been fire and bloodlust, uncontrolled and collapsing in on itself. This power radiated like the Sun—warm, encouraging, and stable.

Connor lay at his feet—he could see out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t dare look properly. There...there would be time for that later.

Right now, he had business to attend to.

With the boys defeated, Negative had turned his back on them, apparently deciding Tony was the new biggest threat. When Peter stood up, however, he paused mid-step and turned back around.

**“You don’t know how to quit, do you?”**

Peter didn’t answer, but he did continue to walk slowly toward Negative. The energy that filled him was buzzing in his ears like bees. It was a cacophony of feelings, disorderly and directionless.

 **“You should have kept Extremis, Parker,”** Negative continued, raising his sword—it was still stained with Connor’s blood. **“You could have won that way. Instead you risked everything on** **_family,_ ** **on** **_people,_ ** **and you lost. Tell me, now that you are alone** **_again,_ ** **what can you possibly do to stop me?”**

“I’m not,” Peter murmured, and the cacophony quieted a little, beginning to find rhythm.

 **“What?”** Negative demanded. They were within arm’s reach of each other now, each refusing to back down.

The rhythm intensified. As the unstructured noise found belonging within him and burst into a symphony, Peter raised a hand for Negative to see. He curled it into a fist, and white light exploded around it—not unlike the power Connor had wielded, but infinitely brighter and stronger.

“I am not alone!” he declared, voice ringing with triumph.

 **“That...”** For the first time since they had met, uncertainty flashed across Negative’s face. **“That’s not possible.”**

His sword swept in a deadly arc, glinting dangerously in the moonlight, but Peter seized his wrist before the weapon could even get close to its mark.

Negative’s eyes widened, and with his remaining free hand he seized Peter by the neck. Waves of black energy rippled over him, attempting to drown him in their void, and he felt his will begin to ebb away as Negative asserted dominance over him.

But then the light around him intensified, enveloping his body in its brilliance, and the darkness recoiled as if burned. Unable to withstand this new power, it fled back to its master—and suddenly Peter felt things that were not his own. Surprise, murderous rage, powerful hatred…

Fear.

These were Negative’s emotions. Negative was _afraid._

Then, in the next instant, Peter retaliated with a powerful kick to the chest. Like a stone skipping on water, Negative bounced and rolled across the ground for several yards, until he slammed into the shipping container behind Tony with bone-breaking force. The impact blew all the breath from his lungs, and he collapsed to his hands and knees, gasping for air.

Peter ran after him, not eager to give him room to maneuver. As brutal as his hit had been, he took no pleasure in hurting Negative, and had no desire to make him suffer. Though grief roiled just beneath the surface of his mind, he refused to let it control him. He was better than that. _Connor_ had been better than that.

So when Negative staggered to his feet, evidently looking to continue their standoff, Peter called out to him as he approached.

“Stop! It’s over!”

But Negative roared angrily, a guttural bellow of rejection, and then unleashed a sustained blast of energy at him.

Light flared around Peter like an embrace, and he responded with his own heavenly power.

The twin streams collided with each other, briefly warring, but there was no contest between them. Negative became overwhelmed almost instantly, and the container buckled as he was thrown against it a second time. Before he could get to his feet, Peter cleared the remaining distance between them and kicked him into the container a third time.

 **“You’re the one who has lost,”** Negative wheezed, crawling into a sitting position. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, its scarlet color standing out vividly against inky-black skin. **“Beat me, break every bone in my body, hang me up for all the world to see. It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, you still** **_failed,_ ** **Parker. You couldn’t protect everyone you love. Now you have to live with that.”**

“No,” Peter whispered. “I don’t.”

He stretched out his hand, fingers splayed, toward Negative, whose eyes widened.

**“What are you—”**

Then his palm sparked, and Negative convulsed. His features blurred slightly, and tendrils of light wafted up from his skin, like rising steam. They converged at Peter’s fingertips and grew brighter, coalescing in his palm.

He had no idea what he was doing. It had been an instinctive action, not something planned. But the rush was undeniable—pure energy surged through Peter, filling every cell in his body. At first he was concerned that he was taking too much, but they were still connected, and he could feel the deep reserves of strength Negative had in him. It seemed nearly limitless. Connor had once said that everything about him was superhuman, and Peter hadn’t been sure, but now he didn’t doubt. With this kind of stamina, Negative could keep fighting for hours, possibly even days, before succumbing to exhaustion.

So he dug deeper, tapping into more and more vitality. He felt faint resistance, but it wasn’t enough to throw him off—Peter had a tight hold, and he wasn’t letting go.

He wasn’t sure how long the process took, how long he spent standing there, leeching the life out of Negative. But eventually, Peter started reaching his limit—he was glowing as bright as a miniature star, and the flow of power had begun to stutter, like a clogged drainpipe. In addition, Negative appeared to be reaching his limit—he had quickly lost the strength to fight back, but now he was barely conscious.

Peter yanked himself away, severing the connection. Negative’s form flickered, and then he returned to normal. His skin turned back to its normal pale color, and his clothing reverted to their original shades.

“Parker...what did you _do_ to me?” Martin Li breathed shakily, not strong enough to speak above a whisper.

“Don’t worry. You’ll live,” he replied confidently, but without sympathy. “I promised to save everyone...”

Then he punched Li in the jaw, knocking him out cold.

“...so that’s what I’m going to do.”

He approached Tony, who was closer. Crouching down, Peter rested one hand on his arc reactor, and closed his eyes.

_Please work…_

He reached out, but instead of pulling more energy into himself, this time he commanded some of it to _leave._

Golden light washed over Tony, and some of the tension in his mentor’s face eased as bruises and cuts healed. Peter wanted to keep going, but he only gave away enough to give himself peace of mind—he had to save the rest.

Connor remained where he had been slain. He could have been asleep, were it not for the blood on his shirt and his glassy, unfocused eyes. Peter knelt beside him, and took his hand. It was still warm, but clammy. Lifeless.

 _Please,_ he begged silently, reaching out to feel for something, _anything._ But unlike Tony or Negative, nothing responded. There was no presence on the other side.

_If I’m going to die, I’m glad it’s so you can live._

“No,” he choked out, willing the energy within him to leave him regardless. It had to go somewhere, he couldn’t contain it all indefinitely, overloaded as he was. “Connor, no...”

But no matter how much golden light washed over him, there seemed to be no change. A sob clawed its way up his throat, and he collapsed onto Connor. Even as he cried, he still kept trying, channeling all the energy he had into the body beneath him.

“You don’t get to do this,” Peter cried. “You don’t get to _leave_ like this!”

He released more and more energy, flooding it through Connor without relent, until eventually the light around him began to grow dimmer and dimmer.

Even after it faded completely, he still didn’t stop trying.

After the symphony inside him fell silent, and he could no longer reach out toward _anyone._

After doing all he could, and it was out of his hands, the miracle would either happen or it wouldn’t.

After seconds turned to minutes, and the chaos of the battlefield quieted around him.

After Tony woke up and approached, placing a comforting hand on his back, but unable to do more.

Peter still cried into Connor’s chest, refusing to abandon hope.

After all, Connor had never abandoned him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was always meant to end ambiguously. Please hold your hate mail until the epilogue, just in case.
> 
> I keep referring to this one as the final chapter, but at the rate the epilogue is going it might as well be a chapter in its own right. Either way, there's one final update for this story!
> 
> If you haven't completely forsaken this fic, drop me a comment tell me what you thought of this chapter! I'm a slave to your validation.


	23. Epilogue: Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath, and the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from the song "Starlight" by Starset.
> 
> Chapter warnings: brief mention of character death and of abusive parents.
> 
> Okay, TECHNICALLY it's 2 AM Friday morning but for me it's still Thursday night because I haven't slept and I wanted to get this out, so. Here ya go.

_“Everybody lives, Rose. Just this once, EVERYBODY LIVES!”_

A knock made Peter look up from his laptop, and he paused the Doctor Who rerun as May opened the door. She took one look at his T-shirt and shorts, and crossed her arms, raising one eyebrow.

“What happened to getting ready?”

“Sorry, May. I was, I just...” Peter gestured helplessly at the screen in front of him.

“Uh-huh. Well, it’s gonna start with or without you. Better get a move on.”

She cast a glance at the suit jacket thrown over the chair of his desk, frowning at it. Then she seemed to realize something, because when her expression turned back to him it was sympathetic.

She always did know him too well.

She also knew she didn’t have to tell him twice. As his bedroom door shut, Peter eyed the garment as well, but with much more distaste.

The first time he’d worn a suit had been his parents’ funeral—it had been secondhand, and hadn’t fit him properly. He’d tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves all the way through the service. The second time was when he and May had buried Ben. That one had fit him right, so it had offered nothing to distract him from his grief. The third had been the one he wore to Homecoming...and that hadn’t ended well either.

As a result, Peter had developed a kind of superstition over suits. They were a bad omen. Whenever he wore one, he felt like it was always because he had to say goodbye to someone.

But there was no way he could get out of this. Sighing loudly, Peter got off his bed and, as quickly as he could, changed into a white button-down shirt and slacks. He picked up the jacket and shrugged it on, then glanced at himself in the mirror attached to the back of the bedroom door.

He didn’t have a tie. His only one had been ruined by the wine at Thanksgiving dinner, and he hadn’t gotten around to getting another.

That felt like a lifetime ago. It had been the last night before his showdown against Negative and the Inner Demons. The press had taken to calling them the Sinister Six, which Tony thought was “a dumb use of alliteration.”

Peter didn't really care what they were called anymore.

He trudged out of his room, and down the hallway. May wasn’t anywhere in sight—he had a moment of peace.

As if the universe had been waiting for this thought to cross his mind, a loud knock cut through the silence of the apartment.

 _So much for that,_ Peter thought, rolling his eyes.

He crossed the sitting room and pulled open the door, revealed Tony on the other side. He peered down at Peter through red-tinted aviator sunglasses, taking in his outfit without surprise. He knew what today was, too.

“Hey, there you are. Been blowing up your phone.”

“Oh,” Peter said, reflexively patting his pocket. “I didn’t—I haven’t been looking at it. Sorry.”

“No worries. Mind if I borrow you for a minute? I want to show you something.”

Peter glanced behind him, at the empty apartment. “Uh, now? It’s kinda...wait, aren’t you coming with us? Can it wait until after?”

“It won’t take long. May won’t even notice you’re gone.”

Peter sighed. His mentor had an intent, it seemed, and he was not one to be dissuaded.

“Alright. Where are we going?”

* * *

“Seriously, _where_ are we going?” he repeated, for the _fifth_ time, as their car around another street corner.

His mentor replied, for the _fifth_ time, “You’ll see when we get there.” Then he added, “By the way, you’re still good? No more side-effects?”

Peter shook his head. The first few days after being cured of Extremis, he’d experienced painful shocks up and down his spine. Tony assured him it was nothing to worry about, just part of the process of purging the nanotech from his system. But, like a mother hen, he constantly double-checked in case there was a resurgence.

“Good, good.” The car pulled to a stop. “We’re here.” Before he could get out, however, Tony lunged directly into his personal bubble, giving an indignant look at something outside Peter’s window.

“Unbelievable,” he groaned, flinging open his door and yanking the keys out of the ignition. “They were supposed to get rid of the sign by now!”

Peter got out of the car as well. They had parked in front of a large brick townhouse. It had clearly been renovated from an older, existing building—modern lightning had been installed around its doors, and inside the ground-floor window Peter could see a small group of children huddled on bean bags, watching cartoons on a large flat-screen. But what quickly drew his eyes, and was no doubt the source of Tony’s ire, was the massive letters which spelled F.E.A.S.T. above the building’s front door.

“F.E.A.S.T.?” he demanded, trying to keep the heat out of his tone. He was only partially successful. _“Why_ are we _here?”_

“This is exactly why I wanted the sign taken down,” Tony grunted, gesturing at the building helplessly. “Alright, you know how Li built these shelters with all those, uh, ‘donations’ he brainwashed people into giving him?”

Peter nodded.

“Well, after his arrest, a lot of them wanted their money back, or compensation if they couldn’t get it. As soon as he’s convicted and sent off to the Raft, Li’s assets will be totally drained and re-distributed to all the people he robbed. But that leaves the shelters without funding. Police raided them all and got diddly-squat, so there’s no use for them in the prosecution. Legally, they don’t have an owner anymore. Normally they’d just go to the city, except that’s a _lot_ of municipal property to have to maintain, so the plan was to just auction them all off to the highest bidder.”

“Wait.” Peter turned back to look through the ground-floor window, at the children. If they were in F.E.A.S.T., they were either underprivileged, impoverished, or downright homeless. “That would put a lot of people back on the streets. All those kids...”

“Yup,” Tony said matter-of-factly, nodding. “So I bought them instead.”

Silence fell for several seconds as Peter processed this. He blinked, feeling a little light-headed. “You—”

“Outbid everyone else,” Tony concluded, a small smile crossing his face as he watched the occupants inside the shelter. “Negative was a Grade-A bastard, and I won’t say that these shelters were the one good thing about him. He doesn’t deserve that kind of credit. But they _do_ help a lot of people, people who shouldn’t have to pay for Li’s crimes.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Peter said stupidly, still shellshocked.

Tony laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder with one hand. “Don’t worry, kid. I’m good for it. But there are gonna be a few changes. Gonna triple-screen all the old staff, just to be safe. And we’re _definitely_ changing the name.”

“I like that idea.”

“Yeah? Good, I wanted to run the new name by you anyway.” He shot Peter a curious look from the corner of his eye, then turned to face him properly. “Originally, my first idea was to rename it after Connor. I thought, I dunno, it’d be like giving Li one last ‘fuck you.’ But the more I kept mulling it over...”

Peter grimaced, and Tony chuckled sheepishly.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“So...what are you gonna call it then?”

“Well, May had an idea that I liked, and she suggested I run it by you.” Tony paused, as if he were trying to weigh his words carefully. “She suggested calling it the Ben Parker House. B.P.H., for short. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue like F.E.A.S.T., but...I know how much he meant to you both. Plus, she told me he had this phrase he would say a lot—about power and responsibility—and it reminded me of something a friend once told me, long ago. They’re good words to live by—”

He didn’t get to finish, because Peter seized him in a powerful bear hug. Tony grunted and flailed a little, surprised, as he was lifted off his feet effortlessly.

“I like it,” he whispered into his shirt. “I like it a lot.”

Another moment passed, and then Tony returned the embrace, patting his back gently. “Cool. Me too, kid.”

Abruptly, a fierce ringing interrupted them. Peter released Tony, suddenly embarrassed by his behavior, so he could answer his phone.

“Hey, May—”

 _“Tony Stark, where the hell is my nephew?”_ he heard her demand, and Peter bit the inside of his lip, trying to hold back a smile. Tony made a face at him.

“He’s right here with me. We’re on our way back now, don’t worry.”

_“You better be. This is important.”_

“Okay, we need to go,” Tony announced as May ended the call. “I don’t like being in hot water with your aunt. She’s scary.”

“I _warned_ you.”

“Just get in the car, Underoos.”

* * *

When they arrived back at the apartment building, Tony stopped Peter before he could walk inside.

“Hold up. Where’s your tie?”

“Um. I don’t have one?”

“How come? It completes the look, Pete.” Before he could answer, Tony had reached into his pocket and, impossibly, pulled out a dark green necktie. Then he stepped closer, popped Peter’s collar, and looped it around his neck. _“Seriously,_ remind me to show you how to tie a tie one of these days.”

“Why do you just have that?” Peter asked suspiciously, as Tony fumbled at his throat.

“I’m always prepared. Ugh, I can never do this on someone else.” He removed the garment and tied it around his own neck, then loosened the knot and pulled it back over his head, putting it back on Peter. He pulled the tie taut, then lowered Peter’s collar over it. “Not too tight?”

It wasn’t, but his Adam’s apple felt strangely heavy regardless. “No.”

“Good.” Tony clapped him on the shoulder, then turned him around to face the apartment building as its front doors opened. “Just in time, too.”

May stepped out, a wide smile on her face. And behind her…

Connor beamed at Peter as the door swung shut behind him. He was dressed in a similar ensemble—white shirt, black slacks and suit jacket, and _coincidentally_ happened to be wearing the exact same color tie as Peter. It matched his eyes. No doubt a coordination on May and Tony’s part.

They stared at each other for a few moments, drinking in the view.

“You look—”

“Amazing,” Peter finished, and Connor flushed.

“I think I’m feeling old,” Tony said behind him. “Is this what that's like? I don’t approve.”

“Welcome to my world, Tony,” May laughed. “Thanks for coming. You wanna drive?”

“Well, you shot down my idea of a bunch of suits attached to a chariot for them, so...”

“Wait, pictures!” she cried suddenly, digging out her phone. “We need to take pictures!”

The boys glanced at each other, both silently agreeing that this was one battle they could not win. Peter stepped close to Connor, looping an arm around his waist, while May’s phone clicked excitedly.

They endured the photography for a few more moments before Tony ushered them into the car. This time Peter slid into the back with Connor, while May took the front passenger seat. The car started, and pulled out into traffic.

“May said you still weren’t dressed by the time I was in the shower,” Connor murmured to him, quiet enough that the adults couldn’t hear. “Do you not want to go?”

On the seat between them, Peter threaded their hands together and replied, truthfully, “I do. I just...dragged my feet a little.”

He chuckled, squeezing their fingers together, but said nothing in response.

A month had passed since that fateful battle at the shipyard, and _still_ neither of them could properly explain what had happened. Peter’s stubborn hope had slowly began to turn into despair, just as Connor’s wounds healed and he’d jolted back to life. Then, overcome with relief and exhaustion from the night, they had both immediately passed out. According to Tony, he’d taken them immediately to the compound, and left Li for the en-route police to deal with.

Considering one of them had subjected himself to extensive genetic modification and the other had outright _died,_ recovery was surprisingly quick. For Peter, the hardest part was having to face his friends and family—Tony assured him that Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy weren’t mad at him, but he hadn’t quite believed it until they rushed into the infirmary to see him for themselves. Ned and MJ, however, were a different story—the first day he woke up, they had point-blank refused to see him.

He couldn’t blame them. They were his best friends and he had, while in the middle of a suicide mission, refused their help and lied about promising to come back alive. They had every right to be pissed at him. But on the second day, he’d risen from sleep in the early hours of the morning to find them passed out in the chairs beside his infirmary bed. When they woke up a few hours later, he immediately apologised. Profusely. He didn’t stop until MJ interrupted and told him to shut up. The trio talked for a long while, and accepted his apology. As hurt as they had been, they were also glad that he _had_ come home.

“Never again,” Ned had said seriously, and Peter agreed without hesitation.

Never again. He had too much to live for.

Only a few days after defeating Negative he and Connor were formally discharged from the compound and returned to the apartment in Queens. May had cleaned up the mess from her scuffle with Mallen, but when Peter asked if she’d found a piece of stone, she’d stared at him blankly and told him no.

He wasn’t _surprised_ that the piece of Ben’s gravestone had been also been a hallucination, but it gave him peace of mind regardless.

Peter had expected that he wouldn’t be able to look at the sitting room, or stand any mention of Ben, without flashing back to when Extremis had corrupted him the most. But to his surprise, the first time May mentioned his uncle—while doing a load of laundry, telling Connor how he’d once turned all their clothes pink in the wash—Peter hadn’t flinched. Nothing pulled him back to that night, or trapped him in a state of panic.

Then, listening to Connor laugh at the story, he’d realized that happiness was _exactly_ what Ben would have wanted to hear. Not sadness. Not anger. Not guilt.

He didn’t want to make a big thing out of it, but he took Connor to Ben’s grave the next day. As they stood over the cracked headstone, Peter told him what had happened, how Ben died, and what he’d seen while on Extremis. Connor had been shocked, and sympathetic, but Peter had silenced him with a kiss before he could launch into a long reply.

He’d aired out his grief, his guilt, and now it was time to move on. The only thing he wanted to take into the future with him were the good times.

“Oh, hey,” Tony said while he drove, cutting into Peter’s thoughts. “Good news. Officer Davis woke up. He’s getting released from the hospital in a few days.”

“That’s great!” Connor exclaimed, and Peter smiled.

While life quickly returned to a normal rhythm for them, the city was still recovering. The Inner Demons had been arrested as well as Li, and to no one’s surprise they had very little loyalty toward him remaining. According to Tony, nearly all of them agreed to testify against Li in exchange for a reduced sentence. Mallen was the only one who kept his mouth shut, but his loyalty didn’t appear to have earned a reward—Li’s lawyers had completely neglected to reach out to his. In fact, they appeared to be making a case that _he_ was the true mastermind of the Syndicate.

Tony assured Peter it was all a pointless effort. Whatever story they spun in court wouldn’t matter. Thanks to Karen, the whole world could see Martin Li’s rise to Negative. It was everywhere on the Internet. Indeed, she and Friday had been quite thorough and precise regarding Tony’s instructions—the copy they uploaded to PornHub quickly became the site’s most watched video.

Unfortunately, Li’s lawyers refused to allow Tony to dose him with the Extremis cure. He was kept under tight security, but once convicted and transferred to the Raft his abilities would be removed there. Until then, he still retained his powers. Despite this, the Inner Demons’ cooperation revealed everyone under his influence, and Li’s web of corruption fell apart overnight. Most of the people involved were innocent casualties of his campaign, and low-level doses of the cure proved effective at lifting his hold on them.

Fortunately, even though he had won the election, Li hadn’t officially taken office yet. The city planned to redo voting for the remaining candidates, though not until after screening them carefully to be sure no one _else_ was a supervillain in disguise. The biggest uncertain element in all this was F.E.A.S.T., which had come under heavy fire, but now that Tony had acquired and rebranded it, the charity had a hopeful future.

Impossible as it seemed, everything was turning out alright.

In the second week of December, it was May who pointed out that Midtown’s winter formal was fast approaching.

“You both have had a crazy few months,” she’d said over dinner one night. “But if you want to go, tickets are still on sale.”

Peter had been wary, paranoid from last year’s Homecoming, but the idea still appealed to him. Then Connor had perked up beside him, and all hesitation vanished.

Now, as they pulled up in front of Midtown, Peter wondered how much of the idea had been hers and how much had been Tony’s. _Clearly_ they had been co-conspirators all along.

“Okay, here we are.” May turned around in her seat to look at them. “Back by midnight, okay? No shenanigans. No drinking, either.”

“Unless it’s Manischewitz,” Tony remarked coyly, trying and failing to hide a smirk.

He nodded. “Got it.”

They got out of the car, Connor slipping out the driver’s side and Peter the passenger’s. As he went, May rolled down her window.

“And have fun!” she called out.

“We will, May,” Peter replied with a smile. He glanced over the car—Connor appeared to have stopped by Tony, and was exchanging hushed words with him. But Peter’s heightened hearing easily picked it up.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Stark.”

“Come on, Connor. Call me Tony. We’ve been hostage buddies together. We’re well past formality by now. Besides, remember what I said at the pier? You and I are good, capiche?”

“Oh, I...okay, Tony.”

“There we go. Now, take _this,_ to make sure it stays that way.”

Connor didn’t reply, straightening up and approaching him from around the car. He was slightly pink in the face.

“Have a good night!” Tony added cheerily.

As the couple turned to walk toward the school, Peter gave an inquisitive look. “Do I want to know what that was about?”

Wordlessly, Connor held up a condom for him to see.

Peter stared at it, heat traveling up his face as he realized what Tony had said and done. He froze mid-step, brain briefly misfiring. Then he whirled around to shout at his mentor, crossly, “NOT FUNNY!”

Their car had already begun to pull away, but Tony must have heard him, because his laughter echoed in the parking lot as he and May drove off.

Watching their tail lights quickly become red dots in the distance, Peter concluded, “In a weird, weird way, I kind of miss when the Syndicate was my biggest problem.”

“No you don’t,” Connor said immediately, knowingly.

He chuckled. “No, I don’t.”

They turned and continued their walk toward the school. After checking their tickets, the two of them followed the progression of people through the halls. In the distance, they could hear muffled sounds—a faster-paced pop song playing in the gymnasium.

As Peter held open the door for Connor, letting the loud music and chatter sweep over him, he heard, “There they are!”

MJ walked toward them. She wore a black skirt, black heeled boots, and a button-down with a suit jacket and necktie overtop it. Next to her was Ned, who wore a pale blue shirt with a red tie, and slacks.

Peter’s eyebrows rose. “Nice,” he said loudly, over the din of the room. “Very expressive.”

Ned threw up his hands. “Hey, what about me?”

“I like Ned’s look more,” Connor said with a smirk. “Sorry, MJ.”

“Yeah, yeah. Losers, all of you,” she said without any bite. “You two look cute. And by cute I mean disgusting.”

“Oh, man, they have matching ties!” Ned exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. Beside him, MJ made hacking noises and mimed vomiting.

“They’re not going to stop,” Peter advised his boyfriend. “I think this is going to be the rest of our night.”

“Absolutely not.” She had paused in the middle of her act. “We’re not gonna step on your date. You guys have fun. Make this lesbian proud.”

“When are _you_ going to get a girlfriend?” Connor asked.

MJ fixed him with one of her mysterious, slightly unnerving looks and replied, “Who says that I _don’t_ have one?”

Then she floated away, squeezing through the throng of students and out of sight.

“Wait, _does_ she have a girlfriend?” Ned asked Peter, who shrugged.

When they realized they were blocking the door, the three of them meandered out of the way, towards an adjacent wall. Almost instantly, Ned hit them with discussion of the latest Star Wars movie— _The Last Jedi_ had come out just last week, and none of them had gotten around to seeing it yet. That led to a light-hearted debate involving the upcoming Han Solo movie.

Twenty minutes into their conversation, the music switched tone. When the latest song ended and a new track began, it was much softer and slower. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter noticed Connor tilt his head, perking up to it. Maybe he knew the song?

“Peter.” Ned poked his arm. “I’m going to get something to drink. Coming?”

The expression on his face made it clear this was a demand and not a request. Bemused, Peter nodded.

“Connor, do you want anything?”

He bit his lip, but shook his head. “I’m okay.”

Before he could say anything else, Ned grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the refreshments.

“What’s going on?” he asked, pulling himself free when they reached the table.

“You need to ask Connor to dance with you.”

Peter froze. “What?”

“Well, dude, that kinda is what you do at dances.”

He knew Ned had a point. Logically, dancing would be expected from two people who went to a winter formal as a couple. But part of him was still convinced his best friend had lost his mind. When he’d taken Liz to Homecoming, up until the revelation that _the Vulture was her dad,_ dancing with her had been his biggest concern. He’d _technically_ dodged that bullet by having an aerial battle for his life, but there were no jet planes available this time.

It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to dance with Connor. The idea was appealing, but...

“Ned, I don’t...I’m not a dancer...”

“You are when your boyfriend wants you to be,” Ned said sternly, and damn if he wasn’t a little intimidated by that. “Before you ask, yes, I know that he wants to. He’s been looking at the dance floor all night.”

“He has?” Peter hadn’t noticed that.

“Yup. So come on. Slow songs are easier to dance to than fast ones. Go ask him before it ends.”

He turned Peter around and gave him a little push, back in the direction they’d come. Peter slunk toward Connor slowly, trying to figure out what he should say.

_So...may I have this dance?_

_Everyone else is dancing, do you want to?_

_Will you be the two right feet to my two left?_

That last one almost sounded like an insult. God, he was going to screw this up.

As he got closer, he noticed that Connor was indeed watching the dance floor, though he seemed perfectly content doing so. But the longer Peter looked, the more he noticed a hint of wistfulness in his eyes.

That washed away any anxiety in him, and he quickened his pace. He had a one-track mind when it came to people he cared about. If they were upset, find the problem and fix it.

Connor noticed him as he approached. “Hey. Where’s your drink?”

“Dance with me!” Peter blurted out, with such force that it sounded like a command. Connor blinked, and he backtracked, stumbling over his words. “I mean...if you want to.”

Slowly, Connor gave him a small smile and extended a hand. Peter took it, and led him to dance floor.

“How do we...”

“Like this.” Somewhat on instinct, Peter took Connor’s right hand with his left, and placed the other on his waist. Connor’s left hand came up to grip his upper arm, and the two of them swayed into an easy rhythm, stepping to the slow beat of the music.

“I saw you looking,” Peter murmured. In this position, they were close enough to hear each other. “Plus, Ned said something to me. How come you didn’t?”

Connor flushed. “Neither of us are exactly the dancing type.”

“We’re dancing right now.”

“True.” He paused, then said, “I guess...I got nervous. Tonight feels a little like a fantasy. I didn’t want to risk ruining it.”

Peter blinked at him, confused, a silent prompt to continue.

“I never thought I would be here,” Connor clarified, letting himself be led further into the dance floor. “Every so often the realization just...hits me again. I’m free. I don’t have to look over my shoulder. I have friends, a roof over my head, I’m going to school again. And now that school is having a dance and I’m here with the boy I—”

He broke off awkwardly, and averted his eyes. Then, softly: “Sometimes, it doesn’t feel real.”

“It’s real,” Peter reassured. He understood that feeling, when it seemed things would fall apart with one misstep. “You don’t have to be afraid. We made it.”

“I like hearing you say that.”

They moved in sync with the music, slowly but with purpose, and in his peripheral Peter noticed a few whispers and looks. It didn’t really surprise him—he and Connor had never tried to hide their relationship, and by now it had to be old news, but this _was_ a whole new level of public. They were piquing people’s curiosity again.

Peter could hardly care. He hadn’t when he’d first walked into Midtown holding Connor’s hand, and he didn’t now.

But he _did_ want to know what Connor had been about to say.

The song ended as they drifted near the center of the room. Another one started, slightly faster than the previous but still on the slow side.

“You want to keep going?” Peter asked, enjoying the way Connor’s eyes lit up at the suggestion.

“Yeah.” He switched their positions, taking Peter’s hand in his and putting the other at his waist. “But this time, _I’ll_ lead.”

* * *

They danced to a few more songs—even a fast one or two, despite how ridiculous they felt—before needing a break. The cafeteria was just across and down the hall from the gymnasium, and with their stomachs growling slightly, they decided to investigate the tables that had been set up in the corner, adorned with snowflake-patterned tablecloths.

“Food,” Connor moaned dramatically as he swiped a cookie off one. A split second later it had disappeared in one bite, only for him to pause and realize how undignified he must look with his mouth full of gingerbread. But Peter just giggled at him and grabbed a brownie for himself. Then they ended up making up an entire plate of sweets, and ducked outside.

Midtown’s cafeteria led outside into a small courtyard. Normally, it wasn’t anything special—a stone floor with a few tables, exposed to the sky above. The perimeter was lined with small dirt plots every few yards, and in each plot was a single tree. Peter did not what kind—maple? Oak? They didn't hold any leaves, and he wasn’t a plant person. But someone had decorated them for the dance, wrapping string lights around their branches, and he thought it was a nice touch.

Winter had come to the city in full force, and but it couldn’t touch them here. The school had recently installed heated panels in the courtyard and front steps, so the ground beneath their feet warmed sightly as they walked. The heat wafted up to caress them, taking away any bite from the cold air.

Connor hopped up onto the nearest tabletop, sitting down on it and drumming his feet on the bench. Peter offered him another cookie from the plate, and he accepted it graciously. Then his phone chirped, and he pulled it out to read the notification. His brow furrowed at the screen.

“Who’s that?”

“Mr. St—Tony,” he corrected himself. “I wanted a favor, and he just got back to me about it. Forgot to say something in the car.” He paused, biting his lip. “I asked him if he could get me in contact with my family.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose dramatically in surprise. “Your...what? Why?”

His father was the _reason_ Connor had become an Inner Demon—he’d hit his son and kicked him to the curb, just for being gay, and that had put him on the path that led directly to Negative. As far as Peter was concerned, the man should count himself lucky they’d never crossed paths.

Connor seemed to know what he was thinking, because he said, “It’s not about my parents. I really don’t care about them, and I don’t want to go back to them. But my sister...if I can have something with Holly, I need to try.”

Peter deflated. That was fair. “However you want to do it, if I can help...”

“You already are.”

Connor reached out, and Peter mistakenly handed him the plate of sweets he was holding. With a roll of his eyes, he took it and set it on the table beside him, then leaned forward and pulled Peter closer.

“You’re cute,” he said softly, looking up at Peter with a fond smile. “Makes me not want to let you go.”

“Then don’t.”

They kissed, soft and slow. As they broke apart, Peter noticed tiny specks of white floating around them. It had begun to snow. They wouldn’t last, what with the heated floor beneath them, but the tiny wet pinpricks of cold were harmlessly fascinating. Connor glanced up, looking skyward, then stuck his tongue out and tried unsuccessfully to catch one. When he turned his face back to Peter, snowflakes clung to his eyelashes and sparkled like diamonds.

Then the moment was lost completely when all of the lights surrounding them went out, and plunged them into darkness. They released each other, Peter stepping away as Connor hopped off the table.

“What the… What’s happening?” he wondered nervously. Enhanced as his eyesight was, Peter could still barely make him out. The whole school seemed to have gone dark.

“It’s not just here. Must be a power outage,” he murmured. “Midtown’s pretty old. Parts of the electrical wiring probably need to be updated...”

Light bloomed between them, making him blink several times. Connor’s hands hands were glowing, illuminating the courtyard with the same white light Peter had wielded against Negative.

“Look, I’m a Glo-Stick!” he cheered, wiggling his fingers a little.

Peter laughed.

“They’ve been different lately,” Connor continued, examining the energy curling around itself in his palms. “Stronger, and I don’t have to touch someone to drain or read them. But also…more stable. Before, these powers could only ever hurt people, but now...well, you should know what they can do. You’re the one who took them for a joyride.”

Peter arched an eyebrow at him, his tone tentatively playful. “Excuse you, you’re the one who _gave_ them to me, somehow. After you...you...”

“Died,” Connor finished simply. He looked down at his feet. “Do you...remember anything about the transfer?”

He thought back to that night. So much had happened, but the image of Connor reaching out for him, bleeding from his stomach, wasn’t something easily forgotten. Neither was the rush of power that had flooded him, and Connor’s voice responding to him through the connection.

“I remember you said you loved me.”

Very quietly, he heard a sharp intake of breath from his boyfriend.

“I...I thought I was dying. I was dying. I wanted...I wanted you to know—”

“So you didn’t mean it?” Peter asked, cautiously.

“I did!” Connor blurted out, before he could stop himself. He flushed, and said, softer, “It’s just...I thought we weren’t going to have any more time. And we haven’t really talked about this since that night, so I wasn’t sure if you had remembered, and if you had, if you felt the same way.”

Peter almost laughed, but stopped himself before his amused snort could grow into something worse.

“Do you remember when I kept trying to tell you something during the battle?” he asked, ignoring Connor’s narrowed eyes. “I was trying to tell you the same thing.”

That erased any hostility and hurt in his expression. “O-oh.”

“Yeah.” Peter fidgeted in place awkwardly, unsure of what to say next. “Nothing like a life-or-death struggle to really put things into perspective.”

“But _that_ shouldn’t be why we said it,” he insisted suddenly, as if this was something he desperately wanted Peter to understand.. “Three months ago we didn’t _know_ each other. I don’t...I don’t want us to say those words just because we thought it was the end. Not like that. Not in the heat of the moment.”

“Okay. How about now?” When Connor tilted his head in confusion, he clarified, “There’s no heat of the moment here. No one is trying to kill us, no one’s watching. We’re just...us. Does it—do we—feel any different?”

Silence fell between them as each considered the question.

“No,” Connor decided confidently, locking eyes with him. There was a smile growing on his face. “I love you, Peter.”

Peter already knew what he wanted to say—he had for a while now, if he was being honest. “I love you too, Connor.”

He reached out with one hand to touch Connor’s cheekbone, fingers ghosting over the skin with a reverence reserved for only the most precious of things. Connor leaned his head into the touch and Peter closed the distance between them, bringing their mouths together in a kiss. Arms wrapped around him, their hands settling on the small of his back and pulling him close. Peter hummed in response, pleased. He moved his hand from Connor’s cheek to cradle the back of his head, and they paused for a moment, lips hovering centimeters apart.

Then, distractingly, the lights in the school and its courtyard suddenly came back on. Through the building’s walls, Peter could hear cheering from relieved students. Without any more delay, the dance began to start up again, quickly dissolving into sounds of music and laughter.

Connor kissed him again. His hands continued to glow, lighting up a connection between them, and the world around them spun out of focus. Their souls weaved together formlessly, melting into a united force as all they knew were each other.

Neither of them knew what the future held, but they would tackle it side by side. The unknown was a little less daunting, a little less scary than it had once been. There was _comfort_ to be found now, in what was _known._ Every smile and every laugh. Every kiss and every embrace. Every passionate night and every lazy morning.

Of course there would be bad times along with the good, but the absence of those cherished moments would only make their return all that sweeter. Because if there was one constant with Connor Tanyard and Peter Parker, it was this:

They would always come back to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOTCHA. I wouldn't kill off Connor--I put too much work in him! Plus, after seeing how many people wanted him to live, well...even if I'd wanted to I couldn't have refused that.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I really feel like I've grown as a writer throughout creating this story, and I'm thankful for your viewership and your encouragement. 
> 
> Is this end? I really don't know. I'm notoriously bad at holding myself to self-imposed deadlines, so in order to avoid me completely abandoning the potential of a sequel, I'm NOT going to commit to one. A little reverse psychology on myself, y'know? That said, I do have plenty of smaller one- and two-shot ideas that I hope to be churning out, so you'll have that to look forward to if you want more of Connor and Peter's story. I will know better if I want to continue with another 100k+ fic after FFH comes out and I digest that.
> 
> Thank you again for reading. It's been a pleasure.


End file.
